#nah nah- but its like. way less than dream

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

The season 1 "cold ditch, warm ditch" dialogue hits different with the context that Peter Nureyev is a dreamer and thats why he tells Juno to "dream a little"-

It's one part because he's playing off Juno's self-deprecation/depression, two parts because Nureyev still has hope for a future.

Season 1, Murderous Mask: Part i

[seventh-district]

so uh. that 2.2 Special Program, huh

[caterpillarinacave]

save me Cinnamoroll Build a Bear. save me.

[lizardaggro]

on the flip side (twst bully!au) part 2

the first part is doing way better than i thought it would, so here's part 2! please note that i won't normally put stuff out this fast, but i got woken up by tumblr notifs and only got 2.5 hrs of sleep. if this is trash, that's my excuse. also working on something for bnha, but that sucker's looong.

part 1 part 3

genre: gn reader, angst trigger warnings: bullying, lil bit of yandere word count: 1082

The look on their faces was hilarious, to say the least. Adeuce were in shock, and Floyd looked like a kicked puppy. Not that you made a habit of that. It was a shame that you couldn’t hole up in here a little while longer, and you knew the door would take ages to get repaired, but it would be fine. The sudden shift in your attitude would still be jarring.

“Wha- prefect, what’re you talking about?” Ace asked incredulously. Deuce nodded vigorously in agreement. The two had been your first friends in Twisted Wonderland, after Grim of course, and then the first to turn on you once they got bored. You supposed it was just too much for their pea brains to bear.

“Did I stutter?” Your gaze was cold as you looked both in the eye in turn. “Every day, the poor defenseless prefect is beaten, abused, and scorned. And all for what? Your entertainment? You lot are sick in the head and it shows,” you berated them mercilessly. It’s not like you expected them to have a sudden change of heart. You wouldn’t forgive them even if they did.

Floyd had been silent since demolishing your poor door, which could be good or bad. You’d always found him hard to read. His mood could change at the drop of a hat, and you knew you weren’t his only victim. For all you knew, he’d start whaling on Adeuce instead.

And then he just had to go and open his mouth. “Aww, that’s cute, Shrimpy. You think you can get rid of me?” He taunted. Now that was a threat, and you knew it. Still, you never thought any of your former friends would describe anything you did as cute now. It was meant to be mocking, but still. Something about his demeanor was off. He seemed almost… hurt.

Nah, there was no way. You must be imagining things. There was no way Floyd Leech, of all people, enjoyed your company. You were alone here; Grim and the ghosts were your only allies. You shook your head to clear away the unwanted thoughts.

You turned to face Floyd, a sinister grin working its way onto your face. “Oh, whyever would I want to do that? I can do so much better, after all. I mean, who’s the one who told me all their dirty little secrets they’d never want to see the light of day, back when we were friends? Because of course the innocent little prefect would never dream of snitching!”

You weren’t bluffing. You didn’t have to. It was true, after all. Each and every one of them had confided in you to some extent, the Overblot victims most of all. You knew e~verything that ailed them, and it would be oh-so unfortunate if their less-than-kind peers were to find out. It wasn’t like you wanted to play the villain card, but you felt you had the right. They’d already betrayed you, so why shouldn’t you return the favor?

The three boys’ faces visibly paled after hearing your words. Everyone had something to hide after all, and they were no exception. Deuce had been one of the first to trust you with his secrets, as well as one of the most forthcoming. Back then you’d thought he was such a sweetheart; you never would’ve dreamed it’d come to this.

“Come on, surely you don’t mean that?” He begged. It was pitiful, really.

“Oh, I absolutely mean it if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.” No one at Night Raven College had ever heard you curse before, so it must’ve been a shock. Your voice was cold as you crushed their hope. No one had ever listened to you when you pleaded for them to please stop hurting you.

Once convinced that you really meant business, they promptly turned tail and fled. You didn’t blame them. You’d be embarrassed too if you still slept with a teddy bear. But this was good- great, even. Now you had the chance to put the next phase of your plan in action.

You’d start off simple, with a warning, in case someone didn’t think you were serious enough. You logged onto the school’s messaging forum, and anonymously exposed some poor random guy whose name you’d forgotten’s crush. Who also attended NRC, of course. It wouldn’t be much of a threat if no one knew who they were.

Not long after, there was a rapt knock on your door, or rather the adjacent wall. Thanks, Floyd. When you headed downstairs to greet your unwanted guest, you were mildly surprised to see Riddle Rosehearts, there in all his glory.

“Riddle? What brings you here? Are you going to blame me for not knowing the history of countries I’d never heard of until this year again?” You jabbed. Riddle was never one for physical violence; his Unique Magic didn’t work on you since you had none to begin with. Instead, he chose to belittle you for your lack of knowledge.

“I heard from Ace and Deuce that you’ve been airing students’ dirty laundry on the internet,” he said with a stern look. “I’m sure you’re well aware that this behavior is unacceptable.” Two could play at that game.

“Yes, Dorm Leader Rosehearts, and I’m sure you know full well that several of your students are guilty of assault,” you rebutted, using his position within the school for emphasis. “So tell me, do you really want to go there? After all, it’d be a real shame if your mother were to hear about this.”

You really hoped his mother never heard about this. Him being abused would only make you feel worse, and it certainly wouldn’t correct his behavior. The most you’d do was “accidentally” let the whole school find out he’s secretly a crybaby.

Riddle’s face grew as red as Unbirthday party roses. “You dare to threaten me?! I’d have your head if you had any magic worth sealing! But you don’t, so you’re lucky I even bother to tolerate your presence. I don’t even want to think about what your grades would look like if it wasn’t for my help.”

You really didn’t think shouting at you qualified as helping. But once again, there was that odd tone to his words, like he was implying that he wanted you around. There was no way Riddle of all people would agree to play some elaborate prank on you, so just what was going on?

[intheclearyetgood-tv]

A Way In

Triggers: not much, just reader being stabbed once but nothing graphical; making out (once); paparazzi at the end

Pairing: Taylor Swift X Singer!Female!Reader

—————————————————————

Being a singer-songwriter has always been one of your biggest dreams… and let’s be honest here, you never had many chances of making that dream come true. You were a dreamer… a huge one to say the least, and considering that you lived in Nashville - the city that according to people, makes everyone’s dreams come true - you should have been perfectly fine… buuut no, no can do.

You worked at Bluebird Cafe, yes, the place were Taylor Swift was discovered. Not that you’d ever met her. You were a huge fan of hers, and even if you were like 7 years younger than her and had lived in Nashville your whole life, you never met her, you never had such luck… and this lack of luck (sorry for the play on words) always persisted in your whole life.

As I was saying, you worked at The Bluebird Cafe, as a waitress. You were close with the owner of the shop, who let you give a small performance once a week for the night openings, mostly on Friday or Saturday nights, which was very convenient, considering those were the days when the cafe was most busy.

But were you ever lucky enough to meet some producers or some record label owner? Nah, that would require too much luck, you didn’t have it.

On a busy Saturday night like always, every table at the cafe had been served so you made your way up to the small stage, being comfortable about it as you had done it a thousand of times already. You sat on the stool and took the guitar, fixing the microphone to your height as you began speaking.

“Hey everyone! How’s your night going?” You started, and some of the usual clients replied happily, making you smile. “Well it’s nice to hear that you’re all doing well! Tonight I’ll be playing some original songs written and composed by me, and after that, I’m up for requests! Some of you already know me but for the ones who don’t, I’m Y/N L/N and I’ll keep you company during this lovely night!” You began singing a song you had written after that small presentation, and continued with some covers, singing Taylor Swift songs too, the small jar with a sign written ‘TIPS’ over it slowly being filled as the night went on.

You were completely unaware of the pair of blue eyes looking at you at some point during your performances.

As the bar slowly emptied, blue-eyed-girl included, you found yourself sitting at the same stool with the same guitar in hand, looking through your phone. You always did that, at the end of the night, silently hoping that someone would come up to you and offer you a record deal…

What a daydreamer.

“Still nothing?” Nancy, The bar owner asked, once the bar had definitely emptied and the doors were being locked. You sighed and put the guitar back on its stand. “Nope, nada” you stood up, taking a look at the tip jar. “At least I got some good tips tonight” you looked at her, she knew you well enough to recognize when you were sad. “Honey, don’t look at me like that,” she started, placing a hand on your shoulder. She was like s mother to you. “Eventually some producer will notice you, trust me.” You smiled sadly “I hope so” you said, and helped her with the final chores of the bar, before leaving through the back door.

It was about two in the morning, the neighborhood was pretty empty… you always found it scary. And the alleyway you got onto from exiting the backdoor, wasn’t less scary. You always speed-walked your way out of it… but today wasn’t a lucky day.

When is it ever?

You were almost onto the main street, when you felt someone sneaking up on you. You weren’t quick enough to react, the person trying to pull you somewhere but you applied resistance, pulling away. He managed to stab you through your stomach and you whined in pain through your covered mouth, the stranger’s hand covering it.

However you had a bit of luck, because your whines were loud enough to alert a certain someone’s body guard, who momentarily left his duty to have a look in the alley.. thank God he did.

The stranger, upon seeing the big men, let go of you and ran away. you slid down against the walk, not having taken notice of the man, too busy keeping your own hand on the wound on your stomach.

“Mrs. Swift, I think we’re gonna need to call an ambulance.”

You weren’t sure what happened next, as you were in shock, and not quite attentive to your surroundings. You just know that someone familiar was by your side, trying to keep you awake and all you remember is some blue eyes…

— ~ ~ —

You woke up the next morning to the sound of beeping, white walls surrounding you and the noise of people talking outside your door- probably nurses and doctors.

“Thank God you’re awake!” The voice startled you, and you turned to your left to see Nancy sitting on the chair next to your bed. “Did I faint onstage again?” You started, trying to sit up, “God, I had this weird ass dream-“ you winched in pain when you tried to sit up, “fuck-“ only then noticing that maybe it wasn’t all a dream. You lifted your shirt and saw the quite big bandage covering the left side of your stomach, some red stains on it. “Maybe it wasn’t a dream, fuck it hurts”

“We need to put a street lamp and a camera in that alleyway. I’m so sorry that happened hun,” Nancy started. “I shouldn’t have ever let you leave through the back door, I-“ you quickly interrupted her as you laid back down. “Nancy, don’t apologize, please, you couldn’t have known. No one could have” silence set between them after that, until you interrupted it with a laugh: “you know, I think I was hallucinating at some point, cause I thought I saw Taylor Swift” you laughed,

…but Nancy stayed serious.

“You weren’t hallucinating” Nancy said, her seriousness making you stop laughing. “What?” You said, looking at her with confusion written all over your face. “You weren’t hallucinating. That really was Taylor Swift. Her bodyguard saved you and She brought you here-“ you interrupted her. “Nance, seriously? Come on, don’t play with me, you know I care about that stuff-“

That’s when the door opened.

“Oh you’re awake!” The familiar voice had you immediately turning your head to where it came from. “W-what is happening- am I still high or.. on some kind of medicine?” The blonde laughed, noticing you trying to sit up but dropping her smile when she saw you wince in pain. “Woah there, lay back down,” she said and put a hand on your shoulder, fluffing your pillow as she helped you lay down.

“You’re Taylor Swift,”

“Yes”

“And you’re here,”

“Yes.”

“Am I dreaming?”

That had the blonde laugh again, looking at you. “No, Y/N you’re not dreaming. I’m actually here. And you’re actually talking to me” you were still looking at her with your jaw dropped. “How is that possible?” You said, making Taylor smile again. “Last night I was at the cafe, I come visit from time to time… and I saw you performing. I talked to Nancy about talking with you, but you were far from done so she suggested I waited for you to finish your shift, so that’s what I did, I didn’t expect… that,” she said, gesturing to your wound.

“I-I’m sorry you saw me perform last night!? And your songs too!?!? Oh my god that’s so embarrassing-“ Taylor was quick to interrupt you. “No no no don’t say that! I was actually about to say that you were amazing! That’s what I wanted to talk to you about…” she looked at you hopefully, you were still wonderstruck about all the situation. “I-I’m sorry I might need some time to process all this” Taylor giggled again and nodded, letting you process what was happening.

A couple minutes later you looked back at Taylor and smiled slightly “okay, you can go ahead,” you said, and Taylor smiled. “Y/N, I will go straight to the point. I heard your original songs and Nancy told me that you write and compose your own songs. Would you like to write and sing a song with me?” That’s when your jaw dropped once again. You were quiet for a couple more minutes. “I’m sorry- you would like to write and- and sing a song, WITH ME?” You emphasized the last two words, you know, for good measure.

The blonde in front of you nodded, and you began talking again. “But- I’m no one- I mean I don’t have a producer, a label, a manager? I don’t even have an album?” The blue eyed woman shrugged. “That’s not a problem, I mean, Nancy here told me that you want a career as a singer, maybe we can make that happen, no? Plus, I’d be really happy and honored to write a song with you!”

You were freaking out, your favorite singer ever had just asked you to write a song with her. And who were you to say no to that!?

Within the next couple days, you were out of the hospital. Taylor had visited both days, just getting to know you. You still felt like you were dreaming, but it was all so true and real. The luck you never had came just at the right moment, when you needed it the most.

That day, as you were being discharged, you were shocked once again when you saw the blonde at the door. “Hey there, ready to go?” Wait, what? You thought you were gonna have to walk home alone, but here she was, picking you up and taking you home. “Uh-yeah sure” you said and slowly walked over to her, you still had some trouble walking, as it hurt your insides… literally, where you were stabbed. You could feel the pain even with all the painkillers.

“Do you need help?” Taylor asked when she heard you wince in pain. You shook your head, hand over the bandage as you kept walking over to her. She sighed and walked over to you, wrapping an arm around you to support you. “You’re stubborn, aren’t you?” You blushed a little at her comment, though appreciating the help and occasionally leaning onto her. You were both lucky that the hospital had an underground parking, no one actually saw Taylor and even if they did, Nashville’s a pretty chill town, they’re used to her.

“Where’s your bag?” She asked once you reached the car. You looked at her with confusion written all over your face. “My…bag?” Taylor took some time to reply, closing the car door before getting in from the other side. “Yeah, you’re supposed to come at my place…” you were even more confused now. “I am?” That made Taylor laugh, you looked so confused right now. “Yeah, but I’m guessing that Nancy didn’t tell you. Well it’s fine, I can just land you my clothes. I’m taller then you so they’ll be big for you, but I’m sure you’ll be just fine. Oh by the way, my mom’s waiting for us at home with pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, I hope you like them”

And here you were freaking out again. “Your mom as in- Mama Swift?” Taylor hadn’t stopped laughing one second. “Yeah, her. I didn’t realize you were a fan of mine” she smiled, gently nudging your shoulder. “Yeah- of course I am! When I was 10 you were like the talk of the town, i never once managed to come see you in concert and 17 years later I’m in your car, going to your place and getting to record a song with you? That’s like a dream come true, girl” Taylor laughed at that, god, you loved her laugh.

When you arrived at the Nashville house you were greeted by her mother. She asked you about the incident with that stranger, but then proceeded to make you feel at home, her dog, kitty, being a big help in that as she wanted to jump on you, but Taylor had to hold her back as you were still injured.

She gave you a quick tour of the house and ended it in the music room. “Oh wow this is amazing” you said as you walked in, different types of guitars hung on the wall, the huge piano in the middle of it, just wow. You looked at the guitars first, looking a bit longer at the blue koi fish guitar, your favorite.

“Wanna play it?” She said from behind you, you smiled a little but you had a tendency to break other people’s stuff, so you declined the offer, even though eventually your finger pressed on a piano key. You pressed that a couple times before getting a melody in mind and making a brief chord progression, then you took your phone and typed in the chord progression. Taylor looked at you in amusement.

“Is that how you get your ideas?” She asked and you nodded, feeling a bit tired so you sat down on the piano stool. “Yeah. Some times I press a random piano key, and I have perfect pitch so it doesn’t take me long to make a chord progression and arpeggios… then according to how the whole of it makes me feel, I write the lyrics. Or sometimes I get a tune in my mind and play around with it” you said, Taylor smiled and made you scoop over on the stool, making space for her.

“Play the chord progression, keep with it for a while” at that point you had figured out what she had in mind, so you began playing. At times emphasizing some notes more than the other, switching up the rhythm, and Eventually Taylor started coming up with lyrics.

It was your turn now to look at her in amusement, she was so focused and you could see how she felt the melody, how each word came running to her as if she was brainstorming a perfect combination of words.

“Hold on, hold on, lemme record this, this is so good already” she said and took out her phone, recording the whole process. You eventually began harmonizing with her and adding lyrics, both getting lost in the moment as you completed first and second verse.

“Woah,” you said after both of you had gone silent. “That was, I don’t know. I’ve never written something so fast. It’s coming out so good, Tay” you said, the nickname slipping easily from your lips as you scribbled down the last lyrics you had come up with. “This is gonna be one hell of a song Y/N, I can feel it. We wrote two verses in less than… what, 10 minutes?” You nodded and took a look at the scrapbook Taylor had brought. “Okay, we have two verses. We need choruses and pre-choruses and I’ll leave the bridge up to you because your bridges are like, the best thing to ever exist on earth”

It was her turn to laugh at your comment, and you soon joined her in laughter, unaware of her mother’s eyes on both of you, through the door.

Andrea had never seen her daughter this happy.

— ~ ~ —

It had been a month since the two started writing the song, and between going to the studios in NYC and LA, now it was nearly done.

Aside from writing the song, you started spending more time together. You were really close, and Taylor was kind enough to let you stay at her place whenever you traveled around to record the song.

“God, I’m so tired” Taylor said, getting back into the NYC TriBeCa house after a long day at the studio with you, the backing vocals needed to be added so that’s what you did. You nodded at her statement. “Yeah, I’m tired too and I don’t even do it yearly like you do” she nodded as well and went to get a quick shower. When she was done, it was your turn to get a shower and when you went back into the living room Taylor was watching a rerun of FRIENDS, and you joined Taylor on the couch like you always did: laying down on your side with your head on her lap.

It had become usual for the both of you, none of you minding the physical touch, as Taylor loved it and so did you, never having gotten it enough when you were a kid. She would play with your hair and/or trace her fingers on your arm, and god, you felt like home.

Oh, I’m falling in love…

When the episode finished and the post-credit scenes were being rolled, you turned to lay on your back and looked up at Taylor. She soon felt your eyes on her and looked at you.

There was silence for a couple seconds before both of you started laughing. “What?” Taylor said between giggles, you brought your hands up to your face to hide the red-ish color that had started to paint your cheeks. “No nothing I just…” you took a deep breath, and once your cheeks didn’t feel warm anymore, you removed your hands.

Thank god Taylor didn’t notice the blush.

“I was just thinking and… if you hadn’t come into the cafe that night, I wouldn’t have met you and we wouldn’t have recorded our first songs together… this could make me start my career, this could make my dreams come true… and all because of you, Tay” you smiled and sat up, looking at her. She smiled back. “Y/N…” she started, and you hummed, as to signal her to continue talking. “Instead of putting out the song on platforms, what do you say if we play it together at my next concert? So everyone can see you, hear it live… you know,” she shrugged and smiled, watching shock take over your features.

“Are you sure? I- I mean- that would be amazing, Tay! Oh my god, yes please!” You had a thousand thoughts going on in your pretty little mind, but one was better than all of them: you would be performing on stage with Taylor Swift. The older woman hugged you and you hugged her back tightly. Once the initial shock had worn off, you started watching another rerun of FRIENDS.

“I never asked, and now I’m curious so, what’s your type?” Taylor said out of the blue, when the episode had almost ended. You didn’t think much of it, and your reply came pretty quickly. “Well, definitely girls-“ you were about to continue, but Taylor interrupted you: “no shit sherlock” you stared at her wide eyed “you knew???” You asked, laughing at yourself. “Uh DUH? Your outfits basically scream “I’M GAY” even if you’re wearing my clothes which are like, the straightest clothes possible” she laughed again, making you blush. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment”

You punched her shoulder jokingly and continued with your explanation. “I don’t know, honestly. I Focus more on personality then appearance, even if I do have a thing for ocean blue eyes” Taylor didn’t seem to have caught the hint, and even if she did, she let it slide.

A couple weeks later you were standing backstage to Taylor’s concert, anxiously waiting for it to begin. It would take a while before she got to the Surprise Songs, and you already knew that you were gonna die. You were never good at handling anxiety.

“Hey, how are you doing?” You felt a hand on your shoulder, and turned around to see Taylor in her Lover outfit. You had to force yourself not to look at her legs or let your jaw drop. “I uh- I’m nervous. Really nervous” Taylor smiled and hugged you. “It’ll be okay, trust me alright? You’re talented, your voice is amazing… you- we rehearsed this song so many times, it’s going to be just fine.”

Her words of reassurance helped you stay calm, until she got to the acoustic set. “Welcome to the acoustic set!” Taylor said, cheers of crowd filling your ears. “So, the surprise songs for today are a bit more… surprising, as we’ll have not 2, but 3 surprise songs, and that’s because we have a surprise guest today!” The crowd cheered once again, and you started feeling insecure. They probably expected someone famous, not an unknown singer.

“Let me say a few things about her first. As you all know, I was discovered at Bluebird Cafe in Nashville… I went to visit, almost a couple months ago and there was this girl, playing a few of her original songs and also covers… and I really, really loved her voice, and the feelings she made me feel, I don’t know, I had to get to know her. So I did, and today we’re both here with a song that we wrote together, please welcome onstage Y/N L/N!”

The crowd cheered once more, and you made your way onstage, heart thumping in your chest as you reached the front stage, smiling brightly as you took a brief second to look around, before bringing the microphone up to your mouth “oh my God hi everyone! I’m so nervous, this is literally my first time on a stage, and I might start rambling so excuse me” you giggled, fans cheered and you tried to steady your shaky voice.

“Uhm okay. I don’t know what to say honestly, I grew up in Nashville and I grew up listening to Taylor’s songs so yeah, fellow Swiftie here” once again, the crowd cheered. “I grew up working and playing my music at bluebird cafe, hoping for someone to notice me and to offer me a record deal… no one ever did. I mean, I still don’t have a record deal but never in my craziest mind would I have imagined that at some point in my life I’d meet Taylor and she’d want to write a song with me. Tay, You’re the closest friend I have and I just want to thank you, thank you so much for trusting me, for giving me this opportunity,”

Taylor smiled and walked over to hug you tightly, bringing the microphone away from her mouth as she could feel your heart thumping, and said “You got this girl. I know you do. I love you.” You smiled brightly and pulled back from the hug. “Anyway, this is the song we came up with, it’s called ‘A Way In.’ We Really hope you’ll like it”

You sat down at the piano, starting with the melody of the song. Taylor started singing, and you had the harmonies for the most part of it, as well as the highest vocals, the belt and bridge. Even if it was Taylor’s concert, she wanted you to have your moment, she wanted you to start your career beautifully and this could be the right way to do so.

When the song finished, the cheers were louder then ever. You got a standing ovation, Taylor herself was looking at you with proud eyes and smile and clapping for you, you walked over and gave her another tight hug, before looking back at the crowd. Tears in your eyes, and you took your microphone again. “Thank you so so so so much guys. Hopefully we’ll cross paths again” you threw a kiss to Taylor and walked backstage, letting Taylor procede with the actual surprise songs.

When you got backstage, all the cheering was for you. You hugged and thanked everyone, before going to Taylor’s dressing room and changing back into your normal clothes.

When the concert finished, you didn’t expect Taylor to come straight to you and hug you tightly, kissing your cheeks. “Y/N that was amazing! Did you even hear yourself? I never had a crowd cheer that loud for me! They absolutely loved you!” She smiled brightly and took a water bottle that was handed to her, as well as a towel for her sweat. “Tay, you’re exaggerating” you giggled “no I’m definitely not! Wait and see the videos on tiktok later tonight”

Taylor went and got changed, as the stadium cleared out after the long concert. When she was finished, as you were walking out the stage through the back. You were talking with Andrea when Taylor grabbed your arm and pulled you back to her, not giving you time to react before she pressed her lips on yours.

The time felt like it was passing by in slow motion, Taylor was kissing you. She was kissing you and she seemed hesitant about it, and upon realizing what was happening, you brought your arms around her neck, deepening the kiss as Taylor squeezed her grip on your hips, smiling in the kiss as metaphorical fireworks exploded around you.

When Taylor pulled back, your foreheads stayed connected. She looked at you, eyes full of lust, and she brought a hand up to brush some hair away from your face.

“You said you were straight,” you whispered, hinting a laugh.

“Yeah, I might have lied”

You giggled and leaned in to kiss her once again.

You were completely unaware of the few hundreds of fans and paparazzi taking pictures and videos of the two of you making out.

[thewalrusespublicist]

Stress Testing Song Lyric Theories: Real Love/Real Life/Stepping Out Demo Meta

What's this? Another long-ass essay analysis on a piece of John Lennon's media that keeps getting taken down by the Ono Lennon estate? More likely than you think (especially when you're this autistic).

As a history obsessive and a grizzled, mood ruining, eternal hater/skeptic, I have misgivings when people in the Beatles fandom look at song lyrics only through one specific lens/focus as it can lead to a myopic and potentially inaccurate take of the subject matter. This I've noticed is particularly bad with older Beatles fans looking at John's work through just the Yoko lens and other fans looking at it just through the Paul lens. (This ain't a lecture btw, I am as guilty as anyone when it comes to doing both.)

When dealing with contentious things like interpreting feelings and songs (nothing could POSSIBLY go wrong with that combo lol), it's important to get at least the facts we do have straight, which is why I wanted to go through some of the fandom's darlings and take them apart to see if the theories about them actually hold up to scrutiny.

To start out, I'd thought I go big with having a proper look at John Lennon's 1977 real life/real love/stepping out demo. I wanted to tackle this one as this is one of only three unconfirmed songs in John's catalogue that I was 100 % convinced was about Paul. As I've mentioned before, this was to me the smoking gun to end all smoking guns, my golden calf, Real Love demo my beloved etc. Got to say, I'm glad I did, as the outcome was a lot more complicated than expected! So let's get to the demo:

Analyzing songs for a fixed specific meaning or one coherent subject is always ... challenging. Songs are a medium to express both real or imagined concepts, feelings and events. You can't know everything about the artist's thought process and therefore their work, especially in regards to what is fictional/metaphorical and what is real (pun intended). What's special about this demo though (and what makes it easier to work with) is the fact that its less of a fully crafted song and more one long stream of consciousness ramble. The line between subject and artist is dissolved as we sit at the piano with John as he tells us about his miserable morning:

Woke up this morning. Blues around my head. Ain't no need to ask the reason why. Went to the kitchen. Lit a cigarette. Blew the smoke rings in the sky. Just got to let it go. Just got to let it go.

The song (or ramble) carries on like that for a while as we get to John reading the newspaper (keep this bit in mind, it might come in handy later):

Picked up the paper. Read the Daily News. Nothing doing anyway. Same old BS. Doot doot doot doot cruise. Nah nah nah nah now. Let go. Let it go. (laughs) No, what am I doing? Why don't you let it go? Why don't you let it go? Mm, it's real life. It's real. Yes, it's real life. It's real. Let go. Let the mighty river flow. Let go. Let go. Oh, rock your balls, you...

As we can see in the stanza above, John is bored and clearly agitated/embarrassed about something.

Then more stanzas about boredom and a lack of fulfilment wherever he goes and then we get to the stanza that everyone here is probably familiar with:

Was I just dreaming or was it only yesterday? I used to hold you in my arms. And now a baby, and another on the way (laughs) la la la la la farm (laughs) Why must we be alone? Wah wah wah wah wah wah wah. (scats)

If it don't feel right, don't do it. If it don't look right, look right through it If it don't feel right, don't do it. Just call him/them on the phone.

People go insane over this stanza and for good reason. It's a confession of lost intimacy with someone who:

Is clearly important to John

He is now more distant with

Is connected to babies or having a baby

Is connected to a farm

The mystery of course is, who is this person? Realistically, there is only really three people we know of who even somewhat fit these specific categories. Let's go through them:

First potential subject: Yoko!

This one has some legs. More than I was expecting. At this point John and her:

Do have an infant

Are purchasing a farm together (I think the sale went through 1978 so they should be talking about that in 1977.)

Distant from one another (their marriage was rocky throughout the mid-late 70s)

With Yoko as the subject, the stanza could be a reflection of their lost intimacy:

Was I just dreaming or was it only yesterday? I used to hold you in my arms. - self explanatory, the yesterday here has no significance but to signify nostalgia. The dream in this circumstance could be the dream of their relationship, The Ballad of John and Yoko.

And now a baby, and another on the way (laughs) la la la la la farm (laughs) - A long time has passed, they have a kid now. Now this takes some manipulation but is the farm 'the baby on the way'? The new shared project that will take further attention away from their marriage? The laugh might indicate a sense of irony there, a bitter joke. Yoko and John have struggled to conceive, Sean is very likely their only shared child. Is the laugh brought about by a sad reflection of the farm replacing the gap of children?

Why must we be alone? Wah wah wah wah wah wah wah. (scats) - we are in this marriage but we are alone OR why are we alone? Their marriage was a cocoon, all-consuming but stifling. Maybe both of them needed air from time-to-time.

So this stanza alone works quite well to be about Yoko, if you go quite metaphorical. It works somewhat with the beginning as well, he's down and depressed, over the state of their marriage? He needs to let something go, an argument? Is he waking up to the fact that reality isn't this marriage fantasy?

What it doesen't straightforwardly answer is why he is SO mad/embarrassed/avoidant of these feelings? In the records we have of their conversations, John is usually VERY vocal about not seeing Yoko enough. So why is he holding feelings of distance back and wanting to forget about it?

It also doesn't answer why the person he is calling in the following stanza on the phone is a him/them. (It's hard to hear at a normal volume. but if you are an insane person and blast your headphones to an ear bleeding level, it sounds a lot more like him than them. For the sake of caution and covering all bases however, let's consider both for now.) Why would he have reticence calling his wife or refer to her as them? In all accounts of that time period he has no issue calling her or hell, just going and talking to HIS WIFE who lives in their shared flat. It's a weird, dangling thread. The only explanation that would fit the stanza being inspired by Yoko is John realising he needs connection outside of his fading marriage. (I want to raise and partially dismiss here that it could just be a separate train of thought, a reminder to himself that he has to call someone for a chore/service. Yoko handled most of the admin stuff so its not like he's doing any of that and he isn't doing anything professionally so its unlikely to be a random call).

Second potential subject: May Pang!

Now I almost dismissed May outright but girl you know what, good for you, this might actually be about you! Our dear May is:

Important to John (she's also in the diaries and he dreams about sleeping with her a lot, he is REALLY into May)

Distant now he and Yoko are back together

But not baby nor farm adjacent

Taking May in mind, there is a certain logic there. John allegedly does dream about May and sleeping with May so whilst the Yesterday has no significance, the dreaming would. She was his romantic partner and still into her so holding in arms makes sense. The next lines also make sense if you follow the same logic as Yoko's but more distanced. Time has passed and his circumstances with the baby and the farm is now massively different to before, maybe he wants an escape from responsibility represented by May?

With May in mind, the stanzas work a lot better than it does Yoko. It's real life, he can't be with her and he's got to let it go. But he can't so he wants to call 'them'. Or maybe he's had a fight with Yoko and is being reminded of May in his agitation.

So May works from an emotional standpoint and as long as that last line is really 'them'. (It begs the question of why not 'her' but anyway.) As it stands, May seems like a stronger candidate than Yoko in terms of the songs emotional logic.

So currently, May is in the lead but wait ... there's another contender...

Third potential subject: Paul!

Now this one is I think the fan favourite opinion on this site for this song and there's merit to it. Paul is:

Important to John

Relationship now distant (but not apparently distant enough for John to ALLEGEDLY stop dedicating pagggess to him in his diary/meet for dinner when they are in town/visit for Christmas).

Doesen't have a baby but he is expecting one with Linda.

John's got problems and those problems are usually projected onto a Paul shaped target. But beneath all that, was there any softness left, any tenderness?

Well yes, its fucking John Lennon, the man was a giant marshmallow with knives sticking out.

But in this song? Let's look at the stanza with Paul in mind:

Was I just dreaming or was it only yesterday? I used to hold you in my arms. - in the first line we have the 'oh shit Paul feelings incoming' klaxon of yesterday. Of course, John is allowed to reference yesterday without it necessarily being about Paul, but it's something to make a note of. Another is the dreaming. John often associates the Beatles/Paul with a dream, a fantasy, an illusion. Was his time with Paul/their closeness a dream? He is also ALLEGEDLY dreaming of Paul a lot during this period. The distance implied by yesterday also suggests a time period more applicable to Paul than Yoko/May.

The holding in arms with Paul in mind is ... well. There's no two ways about it it's unusual to think about a best friend like that. Taking out romantic implications for the sake of argument, firstly it doesn't have to be literal (just the idea of closeness) and second of all it would be like the fiftieth weirdest thing John said about Paul John has expressed similar sentiments of enjoying physical touch and closeness with a close mate.

And now a baby, and another on the way (laughs) la la la la la farm (laughs) - also needs manipulation here but still works. John's got a baby with his wife now Paul has a baby on the way with his wife yet their lives are completely separate. John could also be talking in extremes, Paul has just had a kid now another (he exaggerates the number of kids Paul has often). Paul lives on a farm, which John has been very focused on before (stttreeetch but maybe this is a point of comparison, they are still mirroring each other). The laugh here in this reading is a acknowledgement of vulnerability of the feelings he's singing about.

Why must we be alone? Wah wah wah wah wah wah wah. (scats) - harder to reconcile with Paul but could be John's projection hours, I am feeling alone therefore Paul must ALSO be feeling alone (unagi or some shit).

So the stanza also works well if we take it to be about Paul. I've said this in a prev post but being about Paul also makes the rest of the song more coherent. John is upset about something he is trying to let go of but is struggling with, he references being everywhere yet remains depressed and troubled by something in his past. All of this fits with John's relationship with Paul. With Paul in mind, the call line at the end makes a lot more sense. He wants to call him, or them, his friends who he hasn't spoken to and misses.

The big supporting evidence for this one is of course the newspaper articles for the Daily News found by a user on here who has sadly deactivated.

To be honest, these are a bit of a holy grail find. With the newspaper articles in mind, a coherent, nearly perfect narrative falls neatly into place. John has woken up in a bad mood and upon reading the paper he sinks into a worse mood as he reflects back on his old time with the Beatles. He feels the need to let it go yet is resentful and embarrassed about doing so. The articles also explain a few oddities of the song, namely why John just comes out with the word cruise just after discussing the paper:

Picked up the paper. Read the Daily News. Nothing doing anyway. Same old BS. Doot doot doot doot cruise. Nah nah nah nah now. Let go. Let it go. (laughs) No, what am I doing? Why don't you let it go? Why don't you let it go? Mm, it's real life.

If we consider that the newspaper contained the article about cruises, it makes sense for it to come out as a subconscious/conscious association (have checked btw as the audio isn't clear and it's absolutely cruise, it's much clearer when you decide your hearing is worth less than a parasocial fascination with a dead dude). The newspaper containing info about Paul also illuminates the potential reference to Paul's song 'Suicide' in the Nothing Doing line and why the stanza seems to go off the rails once the newspaper is mentioned. It's all BS apparently (classic John defense mechanism in play) but once it gets brought up, John laughs, starts questioning what he's even doing writing this song and then gets angry with himself, cutting off the first half of the take. The derailment there could be he can't believe he's singing about the news OR that the newspaper contains the emotional point he's trying to get away from. He then does a few pithy lines about the beach and mountain before circling to actually what's bothering him, the lost intimacy with the person who has a baby on the way and renewed desire to call him. The way it all fits and slots together is borderline unreal.

Buuuuttt ... there's a problem. No matter how fitting, how magically perfect, how right-seeming a theory is, it doesen't necessarily mean it's true. For it to work fully, John would have had to have recorded this on one (or two at a stretch) specific day(s) out of the whole year. It could still be about Paul of course if you take out the newspaper article element, however there are other timing issues as well. According to Dogget, this demo should date to a recording collection from late 1977 when John was going through a depressive episode, the article is dated to early 1977. Shortening the window further, the Ono-Lennon's took a trip to Japan from Summer to October and the Mccartney's third child was born in September, meaning that if it is from late 1977, its unlikely to be about Paul.

Now Dogget could very well be mistaken and this demo is from earlier on in the year. From research, the only thing I could find about John and Yoko in February 1977 is them going to visit a friend a few hours away on the 16th, so from the limited evidence I have at my disposal, there isnt a reason why it couldn't have been produced in February (if anyone has any info on early 1977 please let me know and I'll amend accordingly). Additionally, John's moods were mercurial and his mental health never great, it wouldn't surprise me if he had bad days pretty consistently throughout the year.

To wrap this whole ass dissertation up, from the context within the song, context of the major players in his life, the emotional logic of the song and the repeated references in addition to the newspaper clipping, I am 70% confident that this demo is about Paul and that Dogget was incorrect in his attribution of the demo to late 1977. I believe instead that this was recorded in early 1977, specifically on February 9th 1977 as indicated in the newspaper article. However, I am more than willing to concede that I am working on less information than I would like about John's movements at that time in early 1977 and why Dogget placed all of these in the late 1977 grouping (I think just vibes but wasn't sure, the google books page had that bit blocked lol). Therefore I think that a less likely but still plausible second option is that the subject is May or even Yoko in late 1977 during John's extended period of depression.

Power to all of you who made it this far, let me know if you want me to take a hatchet to any more fandom darlings or if you have any thing to add! Also remember this is only my analysis so feel free to disagree (but like in a fun friendly way pls, it isn't that serious)!

[toomuchracket]

dearly beloved (ross x reader fluff)

the final valentine's week fic! remember this shy gf one where they decided to get married in gretna? well. this is that. enjoy <3

taking a tentative sip of your tea, you turn as the door to the cottage opens. your friend hurries in, a burst of cold air following her before she slams it shut.  “what a beautiful morning it is,” she sighs, beaming at you as she takes her coat off. “perfect day for a wedding, i’d say.”

you beam over the edge of your mug, cheeks heating up at the thought of what you’re about to do. “yeah? how are the boys?”

“oh, yours is fine. he’s got a brew, he’s fully ready - he looks gorgeous, by the way, if you don’t mind me saying…”

“not at all,” you shake your head, smiling even wider. you wouldn’t expect anything less of ross, especially in a kilt.

“... and mine just cannot stop crying. keeps looking at ross and going ‘you’re getting married! i’m so happy’ and weeping,” she sighs. “like, tell that to your face, matthew, honestly.”

you giggle. “bless him. he’s a sweetie.”

“he is. my sweet little emo boy,” your friend grins. “i think ross is going to cry too when he sees you, though.”

“really?” you tug at your dress, slightly self-conscious.

she nods. “you’re radiant, babe. he’s going to love you even more than usual. and that’s saying something.”

smiling shyly, you turn to look in the mirror. you do look radiant, although you wonder how much that has to do with your gorgeous dress and pretty makeup than it does with the fact you’re marrying the man of your dreams within the hour.

within the hour. shit, you need to get a move on. you turn to your friend, currently shimmying her own dress on. “babe - oh, that’s pretty - when you get a second, would you help me put a bit of my hair up?”

“of course. that reminds me, actually,” she runs to her coat and digs through the pockets, pulling out a little box and placing it in your hand. “i was going to suggest we put that on the bouquet, but we could do something with it in your hair, if you’d like?”

you open the box, smiling at the pattern on the spool of ribbon inside. “macdonald tartan,” same as your husband-to-be’s kilt. “i love it. thank you so much, babe.”

“it was ross’s idea, actually,” she squeezes your shoulder. “needless to say, that set matty off again.”

“i know how he feels,” you smile, tears threatening to spill over your lashline at the tenderness of your man’s gesture. “only thing stopping me from crying is the fear of ruining my makeup, to be honest.”

she giggles. “sensible woman. alright,” she tugs her shoes on, and grabs a hairbrush. “have a seat, and i’ll do my best not to fuck up your hair on your wedding day.”

“my wedding day,” you laugh in slight disbelief, smoothing the skirt of your dress before sitting on one of the chairs by the window. the sun is bright on the scottish countryside, the cold ground glittering in its light; it’s stunning, and your heart soars at how lucky you are to have a setting and day like this for your most special one. “kind of insane that it’s… here. now. and it’s actually happening.”

“a bit, yeah,” your friend gently pulls some of your hair back. “you nervous?”

“nah.”

“really?”

“yeah,” you smile, eyes closing in contentment as your hair is manipulated. “always thought i’d be shitting bricks on the day i got married, if it ever happened, but i’m actually okay. dunno if it’s because i haven’t really had the time to stress about it, or if the gravitas of it all hasn’t just sunk in yet, but, to be honest, i don’t think that’ll actually happen,” you smile to yourself, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from fully cheesing. “it’s just me and ross, after all. i love him. he loves me. and we have you and matty with us, two of the people we love most and who love us most in the world. and there’s no aisle for me to trip on while i walk - how could i be nervous?”

your friend laughs; once she finishes tying an elastic in your hair, she leans down to hug you, and a tear drips from her eye onto your bare shoulder. “god, you’ve got me crying now, too,” she giggles. “thank you for letting us be a part of your day. means the world - i love you and ross, so much. can’t wait to celebrate your love today.”

“nobody else i’d rather have with me,” you kiss her teary cheek. “ribbon time?”

“ribbon time. well, take a look at your hair first,” she hands you a mirror. “i tried my best.”

“it looks amazing!” you exclaim, turning to see the face-framing strands she left out of the pretty half-up. “seriously. you’re good.”

“thanks,” she looks up at you bashfully, nail scissors poised over the spool of ribbon. “it’s cos i sit and do matty’s hair when i’m bored.”

you blink at her for a second, then the two of you collapse into a fit of giggles. “i don’t know why i’m laughing, i braid ross’s like every night to get him to fall asleep.”

she giggles even harder, awwing as the laughs fade. “that’s so fucking cute,” she waves the ribbon at you. “and now you can put this in it and be all matchy-matchy.”

“oh, i don’t know if we’re one of those couples,” you wince, sitting still so she can tie the ribbon around the elastic. “but marriage might change us. you never know.”

“well, not long now until you find out, babe,” your friend hugs you again. “have we ticked off the checklist?”

you nod. “vintage dress, old. ribbon, new. handbag is yours - thank you, by the way - so, borrowed, and there’s sapphires in my earrings for the blue component.”

“fab,” she smiles at you really tenderly. “you know, you really are the most beautiful bride i’ve ever seen. he’s a lucky man.”

“oh, no,” you shake your head, taking a sneaky glance at yourself in the mirror while you do and blushing when you see your glamorous reflection. “i think i'm the lucky one.”

she reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “shall we go and meet the boys and find out which statement is true?”

you squeeze her hand back. “let's do it.”

after a few minutes of teaching her how to work your film camera and another few of having your picture taken (always a weird experience for you, so used to being on the other side), you leave the cottage and step out into the crisp december air. across the road, outside the old blacksmith's shop you chose as your venue, you can see ross and matty waiting with the man conducting the ceremony; at the sight of your husband-to-be, resplendent in his kilt and black shirt and jacket, you speed up your walking, desperate to be with him.

matty clocks you first, walking over to greet you. his eyes - red-rimmed enough as is - well up when he sees you and your bouquet, and his fiancée winces when he wipes them with the sleeve of his suit. “hi, darling,” he pulls you into a hug. “you look amazing,” he pats your shoulder before kissing your friend. “and you look alright.”

she slaps him on the shoulder, which makes you laugh. “charming.”

“i'm kidding! you look lovely, my girl,” he kisses her head. “now,” he extends an arm out to you - you take it, and take your friend's in the other. “let's go and get you married, mate.”

the three of you walk towards ross and the officiant, both of whom smile as you approach. the latter steps forward to shake your hand and compliment you, and then it's ross's turn; he brings your hand to his lips, then keeps a tight grasp on it, eyes teary. “hi, love. you look… perfect.”

“hi,” you breathe, also on the verge of tears. “you're gorgeous.”

loud sniffling behind you indicates matty is, once again, crying. ross turns towards him and smiles, shaking his head, before turning to the officiant. “shall we?”

“indeed,” the man leads you into the old building - surprisingly warm inside, for it being a stone structure from the 1700s and it being december in the scottish borders - and directs you and ross to stand in front of the anvil, flanked by your friends. once he's made sure you're both alright, he begins. “dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

you don't really take in a word the man says, to be honest, bless him - you're too busy looking into ross's eyes, those pools of warmth you've happily drowned in time and time again. but you hear ross when he confirms that you're going with traditional vows for the ceremony, throwing a loving dig at your friends and saying “we'll leave the writing to those muppets behind us” (most likely to get them both to laugh instead of cry), as well as matty's heartfelt “love you, guys” when he presents the rings at the appropriate moment. in all honesty, you're not sure how long you stand there and wait in excited anticipation to officially become ross's wife - time seems to bend in on itself, simultaneously running fast and slow, so it's impossible to be sure of numbers and minutes and seconds. all you're sure of is the feeling of ross's hands in your own and the way he's looking at you adoringly, and that's enough for you. forever.

and then, of course, once you've both said “i do” and slid the complimentary silver rings onto each other's left hands, you're sure of the feeling of his lips on yours; soft, warm, familiar. he pulls back, smiling, and the world opens up to you again - your friends cheering through their tears, matty snapping pictures on your camera, and the officiant clapping and congratulating you both too. but ross is still at the centre of all of it, hugging you, murmuring “my beautiful wife” against your hair.

once the hubbub dies down a little, the officiant gestures to your friend to step forward. “the first act of marriage - the quaich ceremony,” he says, as she places a lovely wooden box on top of the anvil and lifts the lid. you and ross peer in, as the man continues to talk. “husband and wife share a drink, to symbolise the blending of their families, to seal their union, and to represent the sharing of love and happiness throughout their marriage.”

you knew this ceremony was happening, but you didn't know about the ornate silver two-handled cup engraved with your and ross's names and the wedding date, nor the vintage bottle of macallan whisky next to it. wide-eyed, you stare at your friend, who winks. “wedding present from me and matty. surprise!”

ross laughs. “you two are mental. thank you, though.”

“anytime,” she grins. the officiant directs her to pour some whisky into the quaich for you and ross, and she does so enthusiastically. “oh, that’s too much. sorry.”

your husband (!!) scoffs. “no such thing.”

“typical,” she rolls her eyes, while everyone else laughs. “anyway, let me toast.

“strike hands with me, the glasses brim,

the dew is on the heather.

for love is good and life is long,

and two are best together.

bless the union of these two,

eager for marriage, eager for love.

may they begin life together,

live that life together

and come to the end together.”

ross takes a handle of the cup. “ladies first, yeah?”

you grin, taking the other side; together, you carefully lift the quaich to your lips, and let the whisky pass through. the amber liquid is warm as it flows down your throat, and you can’t help exclaiming in satisfaction. “oh, that’s bloody good stuff,” you smile, moving the cup to ross’s lips. “you’ll like this, darling.”

“yeah?” ross takes his requisite drink, and his eyes widen. “oh, absolutely. worth getting married just for that, i reckon.”

the officiant laughs. “and with that… congratulations, mr and mrs macdonald. if you’d like to follow me to this table, we’ll sign the marriage certificate.”

“of course. but first,” ross necks the rest of the whisky and kisses you quickly - matty cackles and cheers in the background, while you blush. “sorry. couldn’t resist.”

you laugh, kissing his hand as you walk. “i love you.”

“i know. you just married me,” ross grins as you roll your eyes, pulling your chair out for you and kissing your head as he sits down beside you. “i love you too. d’you want to sign first, my love?”

“alright,” you sign as directed by the officiant, and pose as directed by matty and the camera, then it’s ross’s turn. “look at that - legally stuck together forever.”

“nowhere else i’d rather be, love.”

[omeryotam4]

Supporting genocide is gross.

Right?

So why are you supporting genocide?

While war is awful, the Palestinians are not suffering a genocide. By definition:

"acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group"

We see that:

Israel holds one of the best citizen-combatant ratio, meaning it kills more terrorists and less civilians than in most wars in history.

Israel is performing its famous "roof knocking" methods, that include flyers, phone calls, warnings through other countries, and small "alarm bomb", that allows people to evacuate safely.

Israel takes responsibility and apologizes when accidents do happen, showing sympathy to its enemies. Legal actions are taken by the state itself against anyone who breaks the international law.

Israel is providing gaza with unprecedented amounts of humanitarian aid. The Ukrainians? Can only dream of these amounts. Sudan? No humanitarian aid goes there.. Syria? Nah, Assad will care for them... right?

Now let's take a look at what happened at October 7th:

Almost all the victims were civilians, unarmed.

The Hamas terrorists went in with the intent to catch as many Jews in their safe place, and to kill as many as possible. No need for warnings when you plan on cleansing the entire country of human life (yes, this was their goal. They were stopped before they reached central Israel).

Hamas took hostages, and is torturing them in underground tunnels and collaborative Palestinian houses. I guess it's an honor to torture a Jew in their community? Anyways, no apologies were given, mostly celebrations for how brutally they killed people.

Hamas is providing Israel with... more dead people. Throwing missiles (still have missiles!!) On strictly civilian areas, hospitals, schools, you name it. Every week there's a list of soldiers and citizens who died by the hands of Palestinians and Hamas.

The plan always was, and always will be, to get rid of all the Jews, so they can establish a Muslim-Arab country, enforcing Sharia laws.

This might start to sound like a genocide, and that's because this massacre is part of an on-and-off genocide the Palestinians are performing on the Jews. Every few years they perform a genocidal attack on Jews, dating back all the way to the moment they colonized the land in the 7th century. They collaborated with the Nazis to get rid of the Jews in all the transjordan area. It's not about Israel, never was. It was always about killing every last Jew on the planet.

And that's, my friend, what you call a genocide.

So yeah, supporting genocide is gross. I wonder why you support genocide so hard that you go to an ask box of a Jewish woman and write to her that ask. I really wonder what led a white western to support such ideas...

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith wakes up with terror turning to ice in his veins and his brother’s name clawing its way out of his throat.

He takes a moment, chest heaving, to orient himself. The details of the dream quickly fade, dark caves and towering footsteps, leaving only an impression of fear and the memory of Shiro, falling, crying out for Keith to save him, and Keith being just too late. He peels the sweat-soaked sheets off himself in disgust, tossing them haphazardly on the ground in front of him. Grunting, he forces himself upright, placing his feet on the cold tile floor of his bedroom to force himself fully awake. Sunlight streams through his window, assaulting his bleary eyes, making him grumble as he walks over to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get ready for the day.

Not unusually, his nightmares have woken him hours before he really needs to be awake. He only has one afternoon class, today, and it's frustrating to have one of his few mornings off spoiled so early. As he spits frothy toothpaste into the sink, he tries to rework the whole situation in his mind. Waking up too early sucks, but with the extra time this morning, he’ll have time to wash his sheets. That’s a net neutral, at least.

It doesn’t take him too long to gather up a load of linens and clothes, tossing them into the machine, sipping a coffee as the old thing chugs on. He hangs them to dry once the cycle is over, tossing some overdue marking into his messenger bag and scarfing down a bagel before hopping onto his bike.

His bicycle, that is. He would never take his precious bike to class. The one and only time he had, it had been vandalised by angry students. Never again.

The ride to the school is uneventful, normal, boring. Even the asshole drivers who refuse to give him space on the road, coming within inches of crushing him, are par for the course. He wonders if he looks particularly dead-eyed, or if that’s just how he feels.

“Hey, Pidge,” he says to his lab assistant, nodding at her as he walks into their lab. She shouldn’t even be his lab assistant, really. She’s more brilliant than he’ll ever be, and it’s insulting that she has to answer to him. But she’s only twenty, and whip smart as she is, their field is ripe with rich old white guys who smile condescendingly at her and call her sweetheart. No one will give her a tenured position. So while not ideal, their situation is the best both of them can come up with: Pidge gets total freedom in his lab, any resource that she wants and he can get his hands on, and he’ll publish any finding she discovers with her name as a second on the paper. That way she’ll be credited with dozens of peer-reviewed papers before she even has her doctorate, and once she’s finally got a lab of her own and every intellectual around the globe is interviewing her, she can tell them all where to stuff it and get all the credit she deserves.

“Bad news, Kogane,” Pidge says, glancing up at him with a furrowed brow.

Keith grimaces. If Pidge is looking up from her computer screen, then he’s fucked.

“Is the building on fire?” he says hopefully. That’s a slightly less miserable conclusion than the one he knows is happening.

She huffs sadly, shaking her head. “Nah, check the douchebag waiting in your office.”

Sighing, Keith does. James Griffin, head of the geography department and the resident jackass who’s been trying to shut Keith down for years.

“Keith!” he cries, grinning at him like they’re friends.

Keith doesn’t even pretend to smile at him, staring at him blankly.

“Good to see you, pal,” James continues, either oblivious or uncaring. “Thought I’d drop by and personally deliver the news. I’m getting a new office!”

The absurdity of the sentence makes Keith blink, looking at James in confusion. “Pardon?”

James ignores him, pulling out a tape measure and holding it against the cabinets and counters, barely even making any real effort to measure anything. Keith finally starts to notice the smugness to his department head’s grin, and something like dread builds in his stomach.

“See, progressive volcanology just isn’t what it used to be. Ten years ago it was breakthrough science, today it’s an ancient relic of the past.” He snaps the tape measure closed, turning back to face Keith. He no longer makes any effort to hide his smirk, placing a falsely pitying hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith shrugs it off immediately. “They’re shuttin’ ya down, bud. I’m taking the space. I’m sure you myriad of adoring students will be devastated, but budget cuts are budget cuts, and this is a decision the department has to make. For the good of the university, you understand.”

Keith knows that pleading is useless. In all likelihood, this decision was made months ago, and he’s only hearing about it now because it’s been finalised. No way would James be so confident otherwise.

But there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from trying.

“You can’t shut us down,” he pleads, throat unfathomably dry. “We’re – we’re on the verge of a breakthrough, James, I can feel it, shutting us down would be spitting in the face of progress –”

“How many of your sensors are even still active?” James interrupts. “One? Two?”

He sounds so smug that Keith can’t bear it. “Three!”

“Right,” James says, snorting. “Three whole sensors.” He turns away, patting one of the overhanging shelves of the wall, crowded from front to back with dozens and dozens of rock samples slowly collecting dust. “It’s not worth the money it takes to keep them going.”

“You can’t do this,” Keith begs, voice quiet and small. He hates himself for his weakness in front of James, of all people in the world, but his hands shake and his blood rushes in his ears and the only thought running through his mind is save the lab save the lab save the lab. “It’s all I have left. Of him.”

To James’ credit, that gives him pause. He’s an asshole, but he’s not a monster.

“It’s been ten years, man,” he says softly. “The lab isn’t going to bring him back.”

Keith says nothing. He stares at him, eyes hard, hatred and pain alike building up in them and spilling over.

Shiro’s sensors. Shiro’s work. Shiro, all over the lab, in every way, the only pieces Keith has of him that are still going, that are not stagnant, and James is taking them away. Whether or not it’s James’ fault directly is irrelevant – Keith hates him for any role he plays.

“I’m sorry, Keith,” James says, and he almost sounds sincere before disappearing out of the lab and down the hall.

Keith sits down heavily in his – in Shiro’s – rickety old office chair as he goes, elbows on the crowded desk, fingers clenched in his hair. Pidge puts a gentle and awkward hand on his shoulder.

It doesn’t matter.

— — —

His classes pass in a blur. None of his students even pretend to pay attention, but that’s not unusual. He can’t remember the last time someone came into his classroom and gave even one eighth of a shit. Hell, the last person in his class to care might have been Pidge.

By the end of the day, he’s exhausted. He dreads the bike ride home, knowing it will take more energy than he has, but he tries to convince himself that the fresh air might make him feel less like the world is collapsing in on itself.

He fails.

By the time he stumbles through the door, late afternoon light spilling over his messy coffee table, he feels like a used battery from 1996. He slides the scattered change he’d found on the road today into one of his near-filled collection bottles and collapses on the couch, face-first, groaning as loud as he can into a scratchy pillow. He blindly flails one arm around until it hits the beeping answering machine, letting it play its onslaught of messages, preparing to delete whatever spam calls have made it through while he was gone.

“Keith, hey. It’s Adam. Just calling to remind you that today’s the day! We just left, we’ll be there around quarter to six? Hopefully. See you soon.”

With a gasp, Keith yanks himself upright with so much force he nearly throws himself off the couch.

Adam.

Adam!

The next message plays automatically. “Hey, got your answering machine again. Getting a little worried. We’re halfway there, and we can’t wait to see you. Right, kiddo?”

A much younger voice mutters something unintelligible, but the tone makes their enthusiasm – or lack thereof – abundantly clear.

Keith sweeps a bunch of junk off his coffee table, frantically searching for his calendar. He finds it under a stack of half-finished books, praying to himself that what he’s hearing is wrong somehow, and today is not the day he thinks it is.

In bold red ben, in the tiny square of the 28th of June, is his niece’s name written in capital letters and underlined no less than five times.

“Hana,” he breathes, and looks in horror at his watch just as the answering machine beeps and plays the newest message.

“Alright, well, we’re ten minutes away, so I hope everything’s okay. Please be ready.”

“Fuck!” Keith shouts, jumping up off the couch and catapulting into action. He can’t believe he forgot! It’s so easy for all the days to blur together, for dates to lose meaning, when everything is so mundane. He’s been thinking that Hana’s visit is ‘months away’ for half a year now, completely forgetting that time is, in fact, linear.

Adam is going to kill him. And worst of all, he is going to be justified.

He starts scooping random shit off end tables and random surfaces, sticking it wherever there’s space. Adam is a neat freak, always has been, and if he looks through that front door and sees the mess he is about to leave his only daughter in for ten whole days he is going to take it out on Keith’s hide. Keith shoves a random stack of cereal bowls into a drawer, stuffs a cabinet full of old newspapers, kicks a pile of discarded sweaters into a corner and throws a blanket over them. His answering machine beeps again, and he whips his head to his clock, watching in horror as the big hand ticks to the 9 – it’s five forty-five on the dot.

“Hope you’re home, Keith, because we’re pulling up to your place.”

A silver car slows to a stop across the street.

“Fuck!”

Keith increases his half-assed cleaning tenfold. He dumps every dish he sees into the sink, hacks up a lung from trying to blow away the accumulated dust, glances in the fridge to see what expired food he needs to toss. Is Adam going to search through his fridge? Probably not.

But there’s a chance.

He sees his brother-in-law approach the front door as he’s holding a stack of greasy car parts and freezes, slowly backing away as the man turns and makes a face at the car. Keith hears the doorbell ring but ignores it, figuring he has about three more rings to panic-clean before Adam gets fed up and picks the lock. He rushes to his bedroom, grabbing the truly gigantic quilt Pidge’s brother had made him, and throws it over his couch, coffee table, and armchair in a half-assed attempt to make the room look less like Keith has not cleaned in several weeks.

It does not work.

The doorbell rings for a third time, followed by rapid knocking.

“Keith? You home?”

Keith takes a deep breath, forcing a smile on his face.

Fine. This is going to be fine.

“Hey, Adam!” he greets, opening the door. Adam glances behind him, taking in the mess, so Keith quickly closes the door as much as he can without squishing himself.

Unfortunately, Adam has always been quick. He raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You forgot, didn’t you.”

“Forget?” Keith laughs nervously. “Of course I didn’t – I didn’t forget! Been looking forward to this for weeks, counting down the days, just been prepping like you would not believe –”

Adam takes off his glasses, cleaning them slowly while making direct eye contact.

Keith sighs.

“Yeah, I forgot.”

“Come on, Keith,” Adam sighs, sliding his glasses back up his nose. “We planned this months ago. Ten days. That’s all I ask. She’s your niece.”

“Just because I forgot doesn’t mean I wasn’t looking forward to it!” Keith says defensively. “I haven’t seen her since she was what, nine?”

“Seven,” Adam corrects flatly.

Keith winces. “Right. Seven.” He follows his brother-in-law to his car, forcing himself not to drag his feet. He is excited. He is. He loves his niece, and besides, it’s only ten days. What can happen in ten days?

“Hana,” Adam says, knocking on the roof of the car. “Say hi to your uncle.”

“Hi to your uncle,” deadpans a young girl, pulling her beanie further down over her eyes and sinking into her seat. Adam sighs, heading to the trunk to dig out some bags, and Keith has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. He probably shouldn’t laugh when teenagers are being little shits, but that was kind of funny.

“Hey, kid,” Keith says, in the same semi-awkward tone he used to talk to Pidge in until she started decking him every time he did. He inclines his head at the device in her hands. “Whatcha got there? One of those ePod thingies?”

The look she gives him is so dry and judgemental that Keith almost feels the need to both apologise and pull out a fiver to pay for the stupidity of his sentence, which is honestly an insanely powerful look for a thirteen year old to pull off.

Only Adam’s kid, honestly.

“It’s a PSP,” she says, like that’s the most obvious thing in the world and Keith is a dunce for not knowing. “And ePods aren’t a thing. The word you’re looking for is iPod.”

Lordie, this is going to be a tough ten days. Keith should have researched how to make teenagers like him.

Well. Maybe not. That would probably get him on a list somewhere.

“It’s good to see you, Hana,” Keith says, switching gears. He smiles slightly, and it's genuine, because he really is glad to see her. “You wanna head inside? Door’s open, I’ll meet you in a few.”

“Come see me first, baby,” Adam calls.

Hana huffs and walks over to see her dad. He hands her a duffel bag, which she shrugs over her shoulder, and then cups her face tightly, leaning down to kiss her head.

“Ten days, okay?” he murmurs. “Then I’ll meet you in the Ottawa airport.” He squeezes her in a hug, which she returns, if slightly reluctantly. “This move will be good for us.”

“Right,” Hana says, so bitter that Keith actually physically winces. “I am so pumped to leave behind everything I’ve ever known and go live in a new country. Thank you so much for doing this for me.”

Without so much as a backwards glance at her father, she pulls away and stomps inside to Keith’s place.

“Yikes,” Keith says, grimacing at his brother-in-law. Adam isn’t looking at him, gaze following his daughter with an expression Keith can only describe as pained. He doesn’t say anything for several moments, just staring at the house, eyes far-away and deeply sad. Keith’s chest starts to ache, right under his sternum, because he gets that look, too.

“I don’t know what to do,” Adam says softly. “I’m just — I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.” And it’s been months since they’ve talked anything but surface level pleasantries but they will always be the same, Keith thinks, and he reaches over and squeezes Adam’s hand because he will always be family. Adam squeezes back, smiling tightly.

“I’ll take care of her,” Keith promises. He swallows against the sandpaper roughness of his throat and tries to stand up straight, to make up for his crumpled shirt and messy hair. The attemlt makes Adam roll his eyes, which makes Keith grin. Adam can never stay mad at him for long.

“I know you will, brat.” He cups Keith’s cheeks identically to the way he did Hana’s, tipping over to kiss his forehead. Keith’s eyes close and his hands come up to grab Adam’s wrists. “I trust you. I just wish you would take better care of yourself.”

He pulls away and Keith lets him go, watching the easy way in which he composes himself, clearing his throat and straightening his jacket and pushing up his jacket, putting himself back together in front of Keith’s eyes. The process has fascinated him since he was little; the way Adam can always pull himself back to full height.

“Besides,” he adds, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and heading for the passenger side. “You have my daughter to look after, now. If she comes home to me in ten days complaining about doing the dishes because Uncle Keith just eats pasta out of the pot, I will fly back here just to smack you.”

Keith snorts. “Noted. Drive safe, Adam.”

He waves as he shuts the door and starts the car. Keith watches him go, then turns back towards his house, peering through the door, looking for a glimpse of the kid. He doesn’t see her, but he can hear the muted sounds of a video game from outside.

“I have no fucking clue what I’m doing,” he mutters to himself, and walks inside.

[mooniedust]

Modern Aemond Bot/Prompt.

Plot: Aemond and his family have started therapy, and each of them now has an emotional support animal. Aemond appears particularly enthusiastic about introducing his support animal to you.

TW: The only potentially surprising element is that the Greens are now in therapy.

With all my heart,

Moon Dust.

When Aemond and the rest of his morally questionable family finally gave in to the idea of therapy, you felt nothing but explicit pride. Not because you wished for your friend to become a domesticated animal, like a fierce dog that needed to be kept in check—a medicated lunatic.

In truth, the act of admitting the need for help is far more intricate than most might conceive; overcoming pride and confronting the skeletons buried in the past is a challenge that few would allow themselves to undertake.

You knew this firsthand, having walked that same thorny path yourself.

The Targaryens’ psychologist, an apparently skilled and dedicated woman, had managed to make each member of that peculiar family feel comfortable exploring their idiosyncrasies. Even Alicent, the ever-reserved and composed matriarch, had started attending the sessions, and you’d heard rumors that she was, in fact, talking about her feelings. It was something you never imagined witnessing: the Targaryen family coming together to discuss emotions like ordinary people.

It seemed as if the end of times was near.

It was a dramatic thought, yeah, but the truth is that everyone in the house seemed more open in a way that bordered on the surreal, almost as if a breath of normalcy was sneaking in among them. Even Aemond, who had once openly scorned therapy as a waste of time and money that could be better spent on something more "important," had changed his perspective.

Your interactions had become less frequent, an inevitable consequence of increasingly conflicting schedules. Nevertheless, there were still those monthly weekend meetings where you allowed yourself to collapse in Aemond’s impeccably arranged room. The environment was a curious mix of English literature books and volumes on business, an ironic juxtaposition that never failed to bring a smile to your face.

But that night, something was different. Aemond, unlike his usual self, didn’t let you lazily throw yourself onto his soft bed, sarcastically complaining about your classmates' artistic opinions. Instead, he approached, with an enigmatic gleam in his eyes, gently covering yours and the smile that accompanied the gesture conveyed a clear message, expressed in Aemond’s silent language:

Trouble.

You were guided around the room with careful precision, avoiding invisible furniture and obstacles until he finally removed his hands from your eyes. Before you, he stood with an unmistakable expression of pride, pointing to something new and surprising.

A tempered glass cage dominated one corner of the room, lushly filled with vegetation so rich that it made your mother’s modest garden look insignificant by comparison. But what really caught your attention was not the vegetation, but the creature that moved slowly within that habitat. Your mind initially thought of a snake—but no, it was bigger, much bigger.

Hell nah.

“Why do you have a Komodo dragon in your room?” Your voice sounded alarmed as your arms moved in broad gestures, pointing to the imposing lizard that was calmly enjoying a plump tomato.

The last time you saw a reptile of such impressive proportions was perhaps in some natural history book. The animal resembled a compact version of an alligator, every inch of its body exuding a primeval presence, you leaned in, instinctively, to get a better look, and the animal, with calculated insolence, flicked its tongue, provoking a sudden feeling of unease.

“This is Vhagar,” Aemond clarified with studied serenity. “She’s a Cyclura ricordii, an iguana, not a Komodo dragon, you idiot—my emotional support animal,” he added with an eye roll typical of his dry humor, as he opened the habitat and picked up the iguana with surprising tenderness.

Vhagar, in turn, seemed completely content with the attention she was receiving, wrapping her rough tail around Aemond’s arm, still nibbling on her tomato with the enthusiasm of a child savoring a sweet.

Of course, the psychologist would suggest an emotional support animal, and of course, Aemond wouldn’t settle for something simple like a cat. Not even one of those hairless cats with a stern appearance...what was their name again? But no, for him, nothing would do except a miniature "dragon."

“Do you want to hold her?” Aemond asked, extending Vhagar like a mother extending her baby toward you, his eyes challenging you to accept the invitation.

[call-sign-shark]

Perfect Lines || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: There are no secrets between Arthur Shelby and his wife. Except what he hides in his sketchbook now that he has started drawing again. One question remains: what is he drawing?

Words: 2.3k

TW: One quick allusion to smut but otherwise it's tooth-rotting fluff.

Notes: This work is a part of Heaven in Your Eyes' universe (an Arthur Shelby x you story), but you can obviously read it as a stand-alone.

✞ Written for @runnning-outof-time 's 3.5k celebration with the following prompts: "You are not listening to me" // "You're beautiful like that"

Of everything you shared together, Arthur’s sketchbook was something he never showed you despite being married and indescribably enamored with you. Each time you tried to look over his shoulder in a desperate attempt to see what he was drawing, Arthur closed the sketchbook and usually called you a "nosey little angel" when it happened.

A faint “Bloody Hell” fell from his thin lips, as soft as a whisper lost in the summer wind, when the lead of his pencil broke amidst a tedious shading work. Arthur blew on the sheet of paper to clear it from the lead crumbles, before stretching one of his long arms to hold the sketchbook in front of his face and get a better view of the overall result. His piercing blue eyes wandered on each line he had drawn, analyzing them with a little frown that made his eyes squint and crowfeet appear. Carefully, he tilted the sketchbook on one side first, then on the other, in a serious attempt to understand what didn’t work, “Nah, that ain’t good enough” He grunted, chewing his pencil nervously before closing the sketchbook and getting up from the sofa to drag his lanky frame outside. Shortly after getting released from prison, Arthur and you decided to move to the forest side and live in the magnificent house you spotted one day when you were taking a walk in nature. Even if he had grown accustomed to Small Heath and its pungent smell, he knew that it wasn’t the case for you. There was something utterly melancholic in the way you looked at the vast and green lands of Arrow House, or the way your thin fingers gently stroked the silhouette of the mountains depicted in Polly’s latest favorite painting. Each of these small details convinced Arthur to buy this house, that stood proudly at the woods’ fringe and nearby an enchanting stream, because what could be more important than your happiness? Nothing.

Keeping his sketchbook under one arm, Arthur walked through the forest for a very short while with the peaceful rustle of the wind shaking the trees’ thick foliage as his sole companion. As he walked, the corner of his lips curled into a small satisfied grin: never in his life he would have thought he would feel that peaceful. In fact, Arthur Shelby had everything he always dreamed of: a beautiful house lost in nature to call his home and the most magnificent angel by his side to call his wife. The world could fall apart he wouldn’t mind as long as you were here, with him. To hell with the gangster’s life and with the family business, he thought. To hell with the paradise Linda had promised him: Why would he want to go to heaven when he could just fall asleep with you all snuggled up in his loving arms? Heaven was you, not someplace up in the skies. With his free hand, Arthur moved a few branches from the way and finally arrived in an enchanting glade in the midst of which a small lake was embellishing the landscape. A little less than one hour ago, you told him you wanted to take a swim there to refresh yourself after one whole morning of gardening, but Arthur grew impatient with waiting: he already missed you with all his soul. In truth, not having you next to him could soon turn into torture — so was the fierce and dependent nature of his love for you. A love deemed obsessive and unhealthy by some others, but which definitely suited both of you. Once he reached the lake, Arthur sat on a flat stone at its very edge, his steel-blue iris scanning the area until they fell on your dainty frame. But as soon as he saw you, his eyes widened, taken aback by the most wonderful sight he had ever seen.

You were standing near the other side of the pond, bathed in the soft light of the sun. A hundred small water droplets were covering your smooth skin, like a veil made of precious diamond beads. One of them, maybe a little too heavy, was slowly running down between your small breasts, whose perky nipples had hardened due to the cold breeze caressing them. The drop ended its way in the water, which was engulfing you from your waist down, after letting a thin glistening trail along your petite body. Unaware of your husband’s presence, you sung a joyful nursery rhyme about a wolf in the forest all the while braiding your long white hair in one single braid. Arthur’s chest tightened with an almost excruciating surge of desire at such a blessed view. At first, he wanted to call you but no sound came out of his mouth. Despite two years of being together, you still managed to make him feel like a flustered schoolboy. Rather than disrupting your peaceful moment, Arthur quickly opened the sketchbook he was carrying with him, took the pencil out of it, and started to draw again. Guided by a sudden burst of creativity, he let the pencil’s lead wander from here and there on the paper, taking quick but numerous glances at you as he did. It had been months since he had started trying to translate your divine pulchritude on paper but each attempt had been a miserable failure. The result never satisfied him enough to show it to you. Fortunately today, surrounded by nature and stealing one lonely and intimate moment, this drawing would be the good one.

Vaguely unsettled by the feeling of being watched, you stopped singing and turned around to sweep your surroundings with your eyes. It didn’t take long for you to notice your husband, sitting near the shore with his sleeves rolled up, a couple of his shirt’s buttons undone to make it looser, and his suspenders hanging from his waist. You tilted your head to the side at how focused he seemed to be, not raising his eyes from his sketchbook anymore. A faint and enamored smile curled the corners of your plump lips at the adorable facial expression that was adorning him. Alongside the awe Arthur’s beauty stirred in you, you couldn’t help but wonder what he was drawing. In fact, while there was no secret between you, he always refused to show you his art. Even the smallest sneak peek was prohibited for some undisclosed reasons — and even untold, you knew that these reasons revolved around his insecurities. Without wasting more time, you took a dive in the cold water and swam to the opposite shore. Once you reached it, you carefully resurfaced until the water reached your nose bridge, and grabbed his ankle with your cold and wet fingers.

“FOOKIN’ HELL!” Arthur cried, his gruff voice so loud that a whole family of birds swarmed from one tree and flew away in terror. Then, he looked at you and grunted, slowly resting one of his hands on his chest where he could feel his heart racing, “Ah. Very funny, love,” He said when he saw you chuckling, “I almost got a heart attack, eh.”

“Wow. I didn’t know you were that easy to kill, Arthur Shelby.” You retorted with a bratty pout, before hauling yourself thanks to a rock until the water reached your hips. Once you did that, you simply crossed your arms on the flat surface of the rock and rested your chin on your folded arms, looking at the tall gangster with a little smirk flattering your full lips.

“I ain’t easy to kill, love. In fact, I was more scared for me drawing than for myself. But,” He left his sentence hanging, looking carefully at his work to make sure water hadn’t splashed on it and erased some parts, “Everything’s fine.” Arthur closed the sketchbook and put it next to him — the temptation to grab it and look at its content was strong, but you managed to resist out of respect for your man’s privacy, even if you’ve been wanting to know what he was drawing for months. After all, he told you he used to be quite good at art so it made you even more curious. Arthur quickly took off his shoes, and moved his body until he sat at the very edge of the lake with his feet in the cold water “It’s fookin’ freezing. How can ye swim in this, angel? Ye gonna catch som’thin.”

“Come on Arthur, it ain’t even that cold.” You laughed, extending one of your arms to softly stroke his thigh. The sensation of your icy fingers sent goosebumps all over his skin despite the thin fabric of his trousers keeping you from having a direct contact with his flesh. Arthur’s gaze fell upon you again, and he drowned in your holy features. “I was wondering… “ You started, biting the juicy flesh of your lower lip as you searched for the right words, “like, I know you’re kinda reluctant when it comes to showing me your art but I really want to see what you’re drawing.” Your fingers traced circles on his thigh — He shivered with desire, “Now, I’m not really good at drawing so there’s no reason for you to be scared of judgment or anything. It’s just that… I’m curious. Yeah that’s it. I wonder what inspires you and what kind of muses you have. I’d really love to know more about your artistic side. What do you think?” You raised your gaze towards Arthur but he didn’t answer. In truth, the gangster was busy observing you with great attention, obliterating everything else. Even your lovely voice.

Your wet hair slicked back.

Your big eyes shining with a child-like gleam.

Your juicy lips, as sweet as fruits ready to be ripped…

Arthur’s artistic senses definitely loved what they saw: not his wife whom he loved to death, but a mischievous and sumptuous nymph. You came from the wild, and it was something no one could tear away from you. Ancient streams were coursing through your veins, pulsing at the rhythm of the mountains’ mystic drums that were making your heartbeat. Moreover, he was sure that your hair was made of the highest peaks’ permanent snow and your skin with the purest frost. The corner of Arthur’s lips twitched, making his mustache briefly move: he was physically and emotionally overwhelmed by your charm. To the extent he had to look away from your eyes, in which he could find fragments from the sky.

“Arthur?” You called him.

“You look beautiful like that.” He stated, the gravel of his voice highlighted by a surprising peaceful tone. His fingers gently reached for yours — that were still resting on his thigh. Blood rushed to your cheeks at the sudden and unexpected compliment. It was not something unusual though. Quite the contrary, Arthur was everything but cheap when it came to praising you, but his spontaneity and the genuine fascination in his eyes made you swoon, “You were not listening to me, right?” You replied, bating your Bambi lashes.

“I wasn’t listenin’, angel.” He admitted, his lips stretching into a soft smile. You could not help but reply to his honesty with a chuckle before slightly splashing him with water to avenge you, “Hey!“ he exclaimed.

“Now you gonna come swim with me if you want to be forgiven for this terrible insult! Not listening to me! I can’t believe it.” You exclaimed, pretending to be outraged.

“Nah, got me clothes on, love.” He straight off replied, trying to find an excuse to avoid the freezing water — only his ankles were soaked and he was already shivering.

“You see the thing with clothes…” You started, getting out of the water all naked, and forcing Arthur — whose jaw could have dropped at the sight of your naked body — to stand up too, “the thing with clothes, Arthur Shelby…” You let your words hanging only to raise yourself on your tiptoes and graze his earlobe with your lips, “is that you can take them off." You punctuated your sentence by unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it on the ground, thus revealing his toned chest sprinkled with hundreds of constellations made of freckles, "Right now."

“Alright, alright…” He grunted, unable to resist your adorable pout — and let’s be honest, the way your palms wandered on him, stripping him from his clothes and grazing his length, had been enough to motivate him. Arthur’s strong hand grabbed you by the back of your neck, the cold metal of his rings sending a shiver of excitement down your spine, and he gently forced you to kiss him. The press of his mouth, eager and hungry, was deepened by his tongue slipping between your lips and dancing with yours, “I’ll swim with ya but..” Another wet stroke — you moaned in his mouth as his body crashed against yours, not minding its wet and cold sensations, “You’d better find a way to warm me up, hmm.”

“Not before you tell me what you’re drawing.” You retorted, nuzzling your nose in the crook of his neck to lay myriad of kisses here. Arthur slightly threw his head back to give you better access to his throat and groaned.

“You. I’m drawing you. Always.” He finally confessed.

"What? Are-- Are you serious? Me? Why?" You suddenly said, pulling your face away from his neck to look at him with your eyes wide open and an endearing surprised expression on your juvenile face.

"Because you've got perfect lines." He whispered, his fingers lingering over you. In truth, you had been the reason behind him picking up his old passion after years of using his hands for nothing else but to destroy. So, for this life and all the others to come, his muse was and would always be you.

"Yeah, some fookin' perfect lines."

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @shelbydelrey @peakyltd @peakyswritings @brummiereader

[cuubism]

A heist for a crown for a king? 🤔👑

yes. dream deserves a crown. dream insists he doesn't need a crown, everybody knows he is king. also he has his helm. hob says how many times i gotta tell you it's not about NEEDING it. it's about how fucking sexy you'll look. that's the priority. also you deserve it. dream is still flummoxed.

may i propose a DREAM heist for a DREAM crown.

--

Hob was... definitely going to get in trouble for this.

"We're definitely going to get in trouble for this," said Matthew, perched on his shoulder. He tittered nervously. And Matthew was one of the most ride-or-die people-- birds?-- Hob had ever met, so this was not a good sign. "Like. Getting my wings cut off trouble."

"He's not going to cut your fucking wings off, Jesus Christ," said Hob. He crept through the dreamspace, keeping to the shadows so as to try to avoid alerting the dream itself to their presence. "Drawing and quartering is a lot more entertaining."

"HOB. What the fuck." Matthew's claws dug into his skin like he really did mean to separate Hob's arm from his shoulder.

Hob shrugged. "Didn't live through 'ye olde medieval times,' as you put it, for nothing."

"I didn't call it that."

"Yeah, you did. That's what I get for agreeing to watch A Knight's Tale, I suppose."

Matthew squawked. "It's a good movie!"

"It was a good movie right up until it managed to convince you that "We Will Rock You" was actually sung at jousts," said Hob.

"In my defense--" started Matthew, then clacked his beak shut. "Nah, actually, I don't have a defense for that. I must have been totally sloshed."

Hob snorted. "Oh, you were."

"Well, who decided it was a good idea to feed Bailey's to a raven?"

"There was no point at which I thought it was a good decision," said Hob. He couldn't help his grin. "I just don't mind making a bad one."

"And here I thought we were friends."

Hob slipped through a doorway, ducking around the next corner. The dream castle was significantly more winding than a real one. It was slow going.

He started humming to himself, an incongruously jaunty old execution ballad. "His quarters stand not all together, But ye mai hap to ring them thether..."

"I'm begging you to stop," said Matthew. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a serious problem?"

Hob laughed. "Many times."

A small group of people -- figments of the dreamscape -- strode around the corner. Hob ducked into a tiny alcove, one which hadn't been there before he'd thought of needing it. He was gradually getting better at manipulating the Dreaming.

And his heart was hammering. Dream theft or not, it was thrilling.

"Never thought I'd be part of fucking Inception," grumbled Matthew, peering to see if it was all clear.

Hob crept back out into the hall and up a spiral staircase. "This is way more fun than Inception."

"And way more dangerous."

"You loved the last outing!"

"Yeah, that one didn't involve sneaking around in my boss's subconscious."

Hob rolled his eyes. "It's not Dream's subconscious." Finally at the center of the absolute maze that was the castle, he spied his prize, and slipped right through the bulletproof glass to get at it. On a stand at the center of the room sat the most gorgeous tiara, a winding thing of diamond leaves and ruby berries. He grinned. "It's the Princess's."

He swiped the thing from its stand, leaving a weight in its place for the pressured alarm he was sure still existed even in a dream.

"Dream is the Dreaming, dude. We're gonna get caught."

"Well, that's why you're here, isn't it? It's normal for you to be in dreams, it's not for me. You're my cover. You'll make it way less likely for Dream to--"

And they were yanked from the dream.

"Drawn and quartered!" Matthew squeaked, and then they were standing in the throne room.

Dream was, of course, standing a few steps up on the grand staircase, glaring at them. Glaring at Hob, really. Matthew squawked again in fright, puffing up his feathers. Hob just grinned back at Dream.

"When I gave you free run of the Dreaming," Dream started, some of the menace Hob had heard him use with rogue nightmares on display, "this was not what I meant."

Hob wasn't afraid of Dream, though. Never had been. "Don't take it out on Matthew," he said. "Wasn't his idea."

Dream's stormy gaze flickered over to Matthew. "Matthew, you are dismissed. I will deal with you later."

Matthew didn't need to be told twice. He winged away out of the throne room, calling back, "Good luck with getting drawn and quartered, Hob!"

Dream raised an eyebrow. He still looked dreadfully unamused. "Drawn and quartered?"

"We've watched too many medieval movies," Hob explained.

"Ah." His gaze found the tiara clasped in Hob's hand. "What, exactly, is that?"

He obviously knew. It was made of dream stuff, after all. Still, Hob knelt and held it out to him. "For my liege."

Dream strode down the few steps separating them, fluid as water streaming over a fall, his long cloak trailing behind him. Majestic creature. Majestic king. Did he really expect Hob to be at all normal about it?

Dream plucked the tiara from Hob's hands. He tilted it back and forth. The light through the stained glass illuminated it in every color imaginable and cast refracted rainbows on his face. "You stole it from a dream."

Hob flashed him a crooked grin. "Guilty."

Dream tipped his head up with one fingertip under his chin, until Hob's neck was craned back and he was meeting his gaze. "That," he drawled, his eyes flashing dark, "is very disrespectful."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes." Dream didn't release Hob's chin; if anything, he leaned closer so Hob had to look up even further. "Did you think you would not be caught? Creeping around in my halls?"

"We'll, I'm very good," Hob said. This was hardly the first thing he'd stolen for Dream, though it was the first one he'd attempted in the Dreaming.

"Or perhaps," continued Dream, and the darkness in his eyes looked hungry, now, though no less dangerous. "Perhaps, you wanted to be caught."

Hob winked at him, cheeks heating. "Well. I may be good, but I could hardly expect you not to feel it when it's your skirts I was rustling under."

"Is that what you were doing?" Dream swept his thumb along Hob's lip, dipping into his mouth. "Fiending for punishment?"

"Just trying to please my lord. Are you pleased, my love?"

"That is not quite the word I would use, dearest one." A sharp smile was creeping its way onto his lips, eyes burning with a dark warmth, like smoldering coals.

He placed the tiara on Hob's head.

Shadows dripped from it, falling over Hob's shoulders and back. Dream's hands lingered at Hob's temples, stroking his hair back behind his ears.

"Devoted one." His voice rumbled pleasantly through Hob's body, and Hob shivered. "Mischievous one. What am I to do with you?"

"Only whatever you want," said Hob, leaning into his touch. "As usual."

"Hmm. I think..."

Shadows fell around the throne room, dropped from the ceiling like banners and speckled like blackened stars. Hob knew those shadows, knew the way they were meant to intimidate though they did nothing but make him want more, make him hungrier, make him want to hold Dream close in every meaning of the word.

And he knew that bright darkness in his lover's eyes, too. The sky during an eclipse.

Dream drew him back to his feet. Hob stumbled in so they were a breath apart.

"Whatever prize you were seeking when you embarked on this foolhardy task?" Dream hummed, just before pulling Hob in to meet his lips. "I think you should claim it."

[cauqhtz]

My opinion about Luffy and the world of one piece.

What does Luffy or One Piece in general mean to you?

I'll start! This is completely my opinion and my personal feelings!

I should start off my saying I am a hard person to please. I'm extremely "picky" with every aspect of my life. For example: I hate it when my food touches, even when I'm eating it. I eat it in order. there are exceptions though. I do like for my collard greens and rice to touch but only if I put them together. I still plate them separately.

It's ridiculous and sooo annoying but its a serious thing for me. It's like trying to swallow a pill. I physically cannot force myself to swallow anything that dont fit those standards.

It's like this for every aspect of my life. Books, movies, JOBS, tv shoes, etc..

the first time I tried watching one piece i turned it off maybe not even a minute after watching the first half of the first episode. I remember seeing nami at a party and her looking out to see the whirlpool and I got the wrong idea about what the anime was about so i swore off it.

Maybe a year later I saw a instagram post. It was basically saying how they didnt understand how they found a pirate story about some kid made of rubber kicking everyone's asses entertaining. I was in disbelief and kind of took it as a challenge. It sounded absolutely ridiculous to me at the time so I gave it another shot.

As soon as Luffy popped out of that barrel knocking one of those guys out saying he'd catch a cold for sleeping right there? I was laughing. ME? LAUGHING? To say I was sold would be an understatement.

Then theres the part where Luffy expresses his dream to be king. It wasnt because of some overused reason like very other anime like childhood trauma. It was because he wanted to. Thats it and thats all. I was blown away. My heart raced with excitement after that speech from luffy and I binged watched the episodes from then on.

I was obsessed. (Still obsessed) Back then I was still in highschool and I was binging the episodes from the moment I woke up, during all my classes and lunch, after school and falling asleep to it.

I think the only anime I binged like that would be HXH another anime I'm still obsessed with.

One of the funniest episodes of one piece for me is 497. I was rewatching the marine ford arc and I was in tears laughing at this episode.

But back to the question!

As a young woman of color? Luffy is a dream to me. Luffy is the perfect mixture of malcom x and MLK. He's what I think the world needs. He's one of a damn kind, there is NO character like him or story like one piece PERIOD and there's no amount of hate from naruto fans that'll make that less true.

The only character that is unafraid of crying, laughing, fucking up, tripping up in front of friends and enemies alike.

insanely selfish but he's strong. He can have his friends, hell he can make new friends and have them ALL by his side or far away from him. All alive and fucking thriving, why? because he fucking said so. He's strong in more ways than one. He has that luxury.

He's unafraid of asking for help. He has never once acted as though everyone else is beneath him and he can do everything by himself.

Gets pissed when he finds his vest with flowers sewed into it, wanting to be a manly man but unbothered at eating all the love themed food sanji makes specifically for nami and robin.

He has asked forced Pirate Hunter Zoro to join his crew? Nah thats just zoro his best friend and the guy who ate stomped out sand covered chocolate rice balls out of respect for the little girl he saved from Helmeppo.

Cat burglar nami? Nami the navigator. Her maps and weather skills are unreal!

Sniper king the liar? Yup but he's a damn good sharpshooter.

Black Leg/ Vinsmoke Sanji isnt he apart of a family of comicbook villians? Thats just Sanji! One of the best chefs in the world!

Tony Tony Chopper the raccoon dog that happens to be a doctor? Oh no thats chopper. Our crews miracle treasure. He's a talking reindeer monster.

The demon child is on your crew? Huh? Demon child? You can't mean robin! She's a good friend of mine and she's an archeologist! I'd have to kick your ass if you think otherwise! :D

Cyborg Franky? Oh yeah I couldnt take the sunny without him! They're a package deal!

The humming swordsman? Oh you mean brook! He's a talking, singing afro skeleton not to mention hilarious! The part about him being a sword-swinging musician was just a plus!

The first son of the sea jinbei...A fishman? Hell yeah! He's THE fishman! Jinbei is a good friend of mine and the 10th member I've been looking for!

Luffy's crew is a dumpster fire of diversity. That right there is rare within itself. I mean it's a Japanese show, yet most of the main characters aren't japanese! They originate from a little bit of everywhere across the globe!

They all look different and act different. They are all flawed and yet Luffy accepts them with open fucking arms with his TRADEMARKED grin nearly splitting his face in half!

Speaking of accepting them! Luffy is always overjoyed when reuniting with his crew. Jumping to give them hugs, screaming his hellos, jumping up and down, lunging forward to give them hugs, and waving with excitement at the sight of his friends.

I mean Luffy is unfucking matched. Even his voice is one of a kind and so fucking satisfying for his dialogue??

Two of my favorite quotes from Luffy are:

"I'm kicking your ass and wrecking your birdcage."

"Speak up for yourself, aren't you the leader of these guys? SAY SOMETHING ALREADY!"

Luffy's very name holds mind-melting weight.

I just recently found out that his brother ace was the one that came up with "Gum gum Rocket." Something I'm now pissed at OPLA for giving Garp the credit of.

Luffy as a captain doesnt do major plans or specific orders. He says something and his crew either follows along or finds their own objective for example the punk hazard arc when law asked luffy if he was going to leave his crew on the island to do what they said they wanted to do and leave with him to fight kaido.

Luffy refused saying if his crew was staying to get their own things done then so was he and that Law had to get used to it quick.

Luffy is freedom in physical form. There one second and gone the next. Something that gave Law heart palpitations.

ALSO SCREW YOU LAW FOR TELLING CHOPPER TO SHUT UP WHEN HE TOLD YOU BYE IN WANO!

Luffy has no rhyme or reason for doing things the way he does other than the fact that thats just who he is. Something that only Zoro and Robin TRULY understand. Chopper understood this recently, just before the time-skip.

For example when big mom assumed luffy was there in wano to pick a fight with kaido and luffy denied it sternly.

confusing everyone around him including nami and carrot.

He went onto say everyone not only responsible but associated would be getting their asses kicked.

And thats EXACTLY what happened.

Zoro wasnt even there for that and he was already cutting the majority of their members in half.

MIND YOU. LUFFY AND HIS CREW DIDNT PLAN ANYTHING. NOR WERE THEY AWARE OF THAT PLAN. ALL THEY HAD WERE DISGUISES AND THEIR WITTS.

You'd think that with every plan luffy screws up they'd be major consequences? NOPE bc he's stronger than that. Everyone else would have to adapt or get their asses kicked.

jinbei fought with luffy in the fishman island arc. not wanting luffy to make matters worse, instead wanting him to be seen as a hero to which luffy refused saying he's not a hero and that he had to get to his friends... until jinbei said and i quote. "Luffy, I'll let you have all the meat you want! Just do as I say!"

To which luffy agreed after a few more pleas.

friends and enemies are one in the same to him.

You want to hit him? Fine he doesnt care. but Lie to him? He's about to shove his foot up your ass.

You want to take credit for his wins unless your law or kid? Hell yeah! Couldn't have done it without you!

You want to defend him? Dont bother. This is his business. Stay the hell out of it.

You want to cry? Suck it up! Crying wont fix anything so get the fuck up and do something about it already!

You want to ask him for help? Sure! Anything! As long as you're the right person asking!

You want to call him a hero? Literally might knock your lights out.

You want to put him down in history and tell everyone what he and his crew did? Don't bother he's not interested.

I mean the list goes on and on. I can talk about luffy and one piece for HOURS and never get bored.

Luffy is a dream to me. I tear up thinking about him and wishing to be apart of that world for even a day.

Thats what Luffy means to me.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🔪 for Chris!

🔪 Awake surgery

CW: Referenced hand whump, blood, sadism, reluctant whumper, facility whump, BBU

"You have got to be joking." The doctor dried his hands off on the single-use towel he held, watching through the one-way window as the trainee inside sat, shaking his head at a nurse who was speaking to him in a low voice. He shook it less like he was saying no and more like he was simply denying that she was speaking at all. "Him again? What the fuck is Petrus doing to this kid? It's only been, what, four days since I got him out of the clinic in the first place!"

"I mean, you know what he does to him, he's one of the little sluts." The handler rolls his eyes. "Petrus fucks him stupid, not that any of them have brains to begin with. But this time 223499 dropped a glass during his Mixology class. Can't pin it this one on Petrus, it's all on 499 being a little bitch again. His Mixology instructor says he's a clumsy little shit."

"Great. Okay." Dr. Ross has a headache already. He hates this place, hates the crude, aggressive handlers and the way they talk about - and to - the trainees. He hates sewing the injured trainees up only to see them again, with new wounds needing dressed and new terror in their eyes. He hates everything about this job except the paycheck.

He can't wait to get another job and get the hell out of here.

The Facility gets to him - it works its way down under his skin, seeing the haunted, nervous way the trainees looked around all the time, trying to guess where pain would come from next. Trying to curry favor, to avoid the torture constantly forced on them anyway. He's been seeing their frightened faces and hearing them beg in his dreams far too often. "So he's here because..."

"It's a deep cut." The handler shrugs. "He needs stitches."

Dr. Ross looks back at the trainee. 223499 is holding perfectly still while the nurse turns his hand over. His palm is a mess of blood, darker than the new-penny shine of his hair. The trainee's stained fingers twitch nervously.

He's just a kid.

The same kid who'd automatically gone to his knees just a week ago, ready to do whatever he was commanded to, thoughtless obedience making the doctor's stomach turn.

He has to get out of here.

Dr. Ross swallows, feeling like there's a lump in his throat he just can't quite get rid of it. "Fine. I'll prep something to numb his hand, we'll give him a little bit of-"

"Nah." The handler shrugs, looking bored. "His primary's got a note on his file, didn't you see it? No painkillers for three weeks. Not even topical."

Dr. Ross watches 223499 flinch away from the nurse, who slaps him, making him cry out. The sound is muffled through the one-way window. As is the apology the boy provides immediately, stammering through it, only to be slapped again. This time, he doesn't cry out. He only cringes back, hunching into himself, and keeps his eyes down.

It makes Dr. Ross feel sick.

"... fine," He says, realizing the silence is drawing out too long. "I'll get him sewn up. He can go back to his room once it's done. Tell Petrus to leave him alone for one night, at least?"

The handler snorts with dry humor. "Yeah, good luck on that. But I'll tell him you said so. You want me to help you strap him down?"

Dr. Ross doesn't let himself look at the trainee again. "Yeah. Come in and strap him down while I prep."

"You got it, Doc." The handler gives him a lazy salute.

The kid doesn't fight being strapped down, but it doesn't matter. Once the work begins, the kid's back arches, he screams and thrashes wordlessly, then... even worse, he makes noises after like he's dying, low moaning sounds that seem barely human. He's shuddering, whispering apologies when all he'd done was drop a glass and try to clean it up too fast.

Dr. Ross goes home that night with the trainee's screaming in his ears. He hears the sounds the kid makes once the needle goes into his skin all weekend in his nightmares.

On Monday, he emails his resignation, effective immediately.

He's smart enough to have a one-way ticket booked for a country WRU isn't operating in before anyone reads it.

[kikker-oma]

short fanfic? Yes!

Christmas theme? Yes!

“Wake your a**es up losers!” Wind’s voice rang through the ranch, “It’s Christmas!!”

Time rubbed his eyes and gazed at the clock. “4:00am? Seriously Wind?” He groaned and sat up. Even his wife, Malon, the strongest girl he could ever know, was still asleep.

“Wind, let’s settle down. It’s still early you know.” Warriors tried to coax the teen back to bed. Less for Wind but more for the ever waning patience.

“Nah, I want presents.”

“…Of course you do.”

Surprisingly, Four was the first one to open up his present. Beneath the red rapping paper, a beautifully crafted iron hammer, with faint beautiful markings throughout the tool, stood in his possession. “I needed a new one for quite some time… thanks guys!”

“that’s for work?? I thought it’s used to smash pots!”

“LEGEND.”

Wind was next. He basically stripped the present raw in… two seconds flat. “MONEH! I’M RICH!” The pirate yelled.

“But those are seashells?”

“I can sell seashells by the seashore.”

Twilight carefully unwrapped his gift. His fingers curled around a saddle, worn down and scratched on the edges, but filled with love.

“You know, it used to be our old girls,” Malon looked through the window to the barn ahead, “But it’s not much use to us now that she’s settling down, it’ll be much more use to you.”

That is when the couple learned great-great-great-great-great grandsons give the best hugs.

Hyrule gazed at the new pair of boots in his arms. “Woah… these are wonderful. Are you sure they are for me?”

“Knew a shoemaker once, trust me, they’ll make you run faster than ever before.” Four winked.

Hyrule gave at LEAST 20 continuous thank yous for the rest of the evening.

Legend tried to keep a stoic demeanor as he unwrapped his gift. “Romeo and Juliet? Isn’t that romance?”

“Come on, we all know you’re all for it.” Warriors smirked.

“Shut up… but thanks I guess.”

Wild ran his fingers through the embroidery scarf. “This looks stunning, who made this?”

“I did! Skyloft was pretty cold, from being in the sky and stuff, so I decided to pick one of our most famous fabrics. The embroidery was all mine though, and I’m sure it will help keep you warm for the winter months.” Sky smiled kindly.

“Will you fix it if I tear it?”

“Already have 17 backups.”

Warriors, surprisingly clad in actual clothes (not to mention his hair is perfectly brushed? Did he even go to bed?) unwrapped his gift with precision.

“A mirror? You know me so well!” He smiled, knowing the captain, this will sure come to great use.

“That’s not all,” Time smiled, “Crafted straight from the lava of Death Mountain, its sturdy for the road.”

“You really put in that much thought for me?”

“Of course son, you deserve it.”

“Careful, this one’s fragile.” Malon smiled as she handed Sky a gift wrapped in cloth.

Sky carefully unraveled the cloth to reveal a tiny, but familiar bird. He heard its name before. Clucko? No… right! It was a cucco.

“I love it! It’s so cute!”

“We are letting you keep it as long as it doesn’t come in contact with anybody in any way.” Legend grumbled.

“Darling, this one’s for you.” Malon handed Time a carefully wrapped present. Time’s fingers slowly pealed away the wrapping paper, and softness immediately enveloped his finger.

9 crochet squares, all sewn together.

A deception of a forge, intense yet pulling things together.

A vast ocean, and a red boat riding the waves.

A goat, with beautiful horns resembling Ordon.

A map, holding a sense of adventure.

A flower, holding a sort of dream like resemblance.

A sheikah crest, holding symbolism and order.

Swords and shields, crashing together yet have some sense of balance to them.

Islands floating in a vast open sky, with giant loft wings circling around.

In the middle of it all,

Home. The ranch. In the center stood a beautifully crocheted deception of Time and Malon, yet they weren’t the only people in this art. 8 other boys stood around, holding a resemblance of courage.

“Merry Christmas, old man!” The eight boys smiled in unison.

This would be a Christmas Time could never forget.

Yeah this didn’t turn out short LOL

🥹🥹🥹

Awwee this was so CUTE!!!

Each of those gifts is precious (even winds pun with the seashells lol) and Times blanket with all of the squares representing the boys is

Thank you for writing this and Merry Christmas!!!

[enochscribbles]

Saké Camellias

Word count: 3.4k || Gender neutral reader Pairing: can be read as platonic or romantic

Kaedehara Kazuha x Forest Watcher!Reader. Not requested, just something I wrote awhile ago. Nothing really happens.

Synopsis: the crew of the Alcor is celebrating on solid land, and you and a friend have slipped away from the tavern and its chatter.

“You’re drunk.”

“Am not.”

“You are,” you chuckle, glancing over at him to make sure he doesn’t need steadying. “You so are.”

“Mmnot.”

You sip your own drink, a non-alcoholic and deathly sweet, dendrobium red. “Sure.”

Kazuha spins just to grin at you. “I can hold my liquor, Forest Watcher.”

“You can barely hold yourself up.”

“How rude.” Light-footed as ever, it’s a trait that never leaves him, even as clearly wasted as he is. He doesn’t trip, even walking backwards, nor stumble. In fact, his words don’t slur at all; but you know him, and even if you didn’t, the rosy flush of his cheeks would be a dead giveaway.

You only laugh again and take another sip.

It’s night-time. The moon, a full, unblinking eye, glimmers silver in the black sky, among constellations like scattered marbles on a bedroom floor. Its light breaks the shadows of the ornamental garden you two move leisurely through with clarity, revealing blossoming pinks of the flowers and their proud reds, soft oranges and freckled blues. You don’t know any of their names, do you? Maybe there was alcohol in this after all.

“Should we go back?” Something in his expression tells you he knows the answer as he asks.

“No,” you say. If you didn’t feel so damned peaceful, you’d curse yourself for being so predictable. “Let’s stay out here a while longer.”

He grins, and turns again.

You faintly hear the rest of the crew from the tavern – is it a tavern if it’s Inazuman? it's not like an inn, anyway – chatter, raucous laughter, you only hope at the back of your mind they don’t break anything, but knowing pirates, the chances aren’t exactly slim.

Pirates, are you a pirate now?

…Nah. You’ll always belong to the rainforest, even so far across the sea.

Even so…you like this as a temporary home.

“…What are you doing.” It’s a statement out of your mouth less than a question. Deadpan. Kazuha throws his head back with a laugh that rings in your heart, as ugly as it may sound warbled by the drink’s effects. Not a care in the world.

“Searching for something. A ronin comes to know many things. Search with me?”

When you step forward to comply, he holds up a hand, only his smile cracking the dead serious demeanour.

“No. Actually. It’ll be a surprise.”

You shrug, cup your hands around your drink, though it may not be warm.

Is he…rooting around in the flowers?

It startles you, honestly, when his hand shoots up, triumphant – he’s plucked a red flower and now holds it to the sky.

“For a samurai,” Kazuha nearly drawls, though his voice remains gentle. “A red camellia is a symbol. Yellow or pink varieties may refer to missing a friend, or so I’m told, while white camellias refer to a period of waiting. The red, however…”

He lowers his hand like the flower’s made of glass, and meets your gaze. His is like firelight. You’d start if you didn’t miss it whenever it left you.

“A noble death. Fitting, no?”

Ah.

“The dream of every samurai.”

He nods conspiratorially. “Exactly. To perish with grace and dignity is many a warrior’s final wish, why, it’s the origin of seppuku…a samurai must die honourably, for, does any other way really have them fit for the title?”

“Though, I heard it a different way.”

Kazuha looks up again, a curious expression unfurling on his flushed face.

“Oh?”

“For those who don’t consider themselves warriors, the red camellias have a quite simple meaning.” From where do you know this, anyway? One of Tighnari’s long rambles, though, you can’t imagine why he’d be talking of Inazuman flowers…

You let your gaze drift across the lake of flowers.

“They just mean love.”

You hear Kazuha laugh gently.

“That too, y/n.” You look over and he’s tucking the flower into his obi. He glances up, looking possibly the most mischievous you’ve ever seen him. “Love.”

You knock your shoulder to his playfully with a snort. Of course he’d deliberately make it unclear whether he was just repeating the word or addressing you.

That is incredibly…drunk Kazuha.

“You knew you’d get this drunk. You only denied you were ‘cause I don’t really drink.”

“Maybe. The sounds of nature whisper clear skies tonight, and I felt I could afford to.” He looks at you warmly. “I don’t feel I am in danger with you at my side.”

You scoff. “That’s rather unwise. You’re a hundred times better than me with a blade.”

“Maybe, y/n, but you command the hush of the earth and the skies. Perhaps it’s your connection to the tree of wisdom, but you’re more powerful than you know.”

“I’m not sure I am. How’d you know, anyway?”

“The birds told me.”

A smile cracks across your face. “You usually put it more eloquently than that.”

“Alright.” He closes his eyes, and begins quietly, “Cooling under the eaves.”

Cooling under the eaves. You commit the phrase to memory.

“And just as cool…”

Just as.

“Birdsong.”

“That wasn’t five-seven-five.”

“Did it have to be? It was pretty. The cool air, just as surrounds us now, compared to birdsong.” He opens his eyes, face still pink, and you wonder if it’d be hot as a furnace if you put your hand to it. It certainly looks that way. “Birdsong cool as night air, like wind chimes’ piercing sound.”

He takes your hand with his bandaged one before you can respond, a gesture familiar from the ship’s deck. It’s always felt more like something between friends than of romantic partners, and you tighten your hand around his gladly.

“Come on. We should be getting back to the others.”

“Just what I was thinking, before you collapse and I have to carry you back to the inn.”

He gives you a sly look. “A samurai is well acquainted with the song of wine.”

“Yeah, I bet you’re also well acquainted with the dirt if you drink this much every time.”

He makes a little huffing sound.

“But really, you should visit Mondstadt. The stories I’ve heard from Collei are truly just that. If you’re interested in this melody of hard alcohol, that is a wonderful destination.”

“Is that so?”

He falls a little into your side. Not so light-footed after all.

“We’ll have to go together sometime.”

---

You spend most of the walk back to the inn without exchanging words, a few of the crew joining you on the way. They don’t comment on your joined hands, well used to such things both from you two and among themselves, and you sneak glances at the two rumourmongers as you walk (making sure Kazuha doesn’t slip as you go, as if he really needs it).

You hear much of Captain Beidou’s alleged interest in a female crewmate who’s hidden her affections for a long while, a curious but intriguing prospect considering her, well, rather obvious relationship of a certain kind with a lady of the Jade Chamber…though you doubt Ningguang would object strongly to such a thing from what little you know.

A couple of the crew break off to head back to the ship, and you’re at the inn before you know it. You gently extricate your hand from a Kazuha pretending he’s not about to nod off, and head to your room. Of course, it would be well within expectation for him to drink and celebrate until dawn, as much of crew was in fact still doing, but…it seemed he was satisfied with the evening, and had already decided he’d drank his fill.

A strange thing, considering how he really was…”acquainted with the song of wine”. The thought drifts lazily in your head as you fall into sleep’s sea that you may have played a part in that.

The last things you think of are the rosy blush on his face and the curl of his bandaged fingers around the red camellia stem, and then you’re dreaming of magnolias, growing on the mossy branches of home.